You've Ruined My Life (By Not Being Mine)
by angellwings
Summary: Two rival studios. One screenplay. Written by Lucy Preston based on a book by Lucy Preston. Now she has to navigate her mother's resentment, a reckless hotheaded lead actor who refuses to say her words as written, and a studio rivalry on par with the Capulets and Montagues. She's regretting this already. [AU. Lyatt.] (TFP)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Okay, lovelies. I feel like I need to preface this with some encouraging words. Today has been a tough day for the fandom, but all is not lost. Shawn says to take this week to focus on the movie, so lets do just that! Join me in tweeting about #TimelessMovie and letting NBC know we want to see our Time Team on our screens if only for one night. There are no guarantees but I can't think of a better way to thank our cast and crew than to keep fighting for them!

It's been a long, hard fight. I know. So, take some time to breath and rest and sip some wine if you need to. Taking care of you is important. Do that first and foremost and then head over to twitter and look me up! I'll be more than happy to gush with you and fight for NBC to give us that movie!

Hopefully this fic lifts your spirits! I think we need a little fun tonight.

Thanks to JennaKaylor and Katertots for looking this over for me! They both helped me keep these characters and the plot on track and Katy proofread this beast for me! I love them both so much! Also, my girls in the Angst Brigade for being my cheering section! I would never finish ANYTHING without all of you yelling at me!

Happy reading!

angellwings

* * *

You've Ruined My Life (By Not Being Mine)

By angellwings

* * *

 _(1/2)_

 _You're so gorgeous_

 _I can't say anything to your face_

 _'Cause look at your face_

 _And I'm so furious_

 _At you for making me feel this way_

 _But, what can I say?_

 _You're gorgeous_

 _\- "Gorgeous", Taylor Swift_

* * *

 _ **SIGN OF THE TIMES: MASON FILMS OUTBIDS RH**_

 _By Katie Drummond_

Are the old illustrious studios a part of a bygone era of film? Has the prestige of Paramount and Metro-Goldwyn Mayer and 20th Century Fox and their Hollywoodland sisters finally faded like those celluloid films of old?

In what might be a true sign of the times, New York Times Best Selling Author, Lucy Preston has inked a deal with Mason Films for a film adaption of her hit novel, _Sign of the Times_. Do you remember three summers ago when everyone you saw at the beach was reading _Sign of the Times_? This science fiction time travel adventure set the New York Times Best Seller list on fire. No one could escape it. That book cover was everywhere.

Now it appears that in a few short months, the movie poster will be everywhere instead.

Ms. Preston has had the screenplay finished for months and has sold the rights to Mason Films on the condition that she retains a producer credit. What does that mean? That means Lucy Preston will keep some creative control of her story and her characters. Word around town is no one is more protective of their characters than Lucy Preston. Although, JK Rowling may disagree.

The deal from rival production house, RH Studios, would not have allowed Ms. Preston any say in the film's final presentation. Negotiations were attempted, but RH Studios continually withheld the producer credit from any revisions of their offer which forced Ms. Preston to accept the less traditional and more satisfactory offer from the arguably younger and cooler Mason Films.

The RH Studios deal for _Sign of the Times_ was previously thought to be a foregone conclusion. After all, Lucy Preston's own mother, Hollywood legend, Carol Preston, was set to produce. Turns out, mother may not always know best. It must make this loss even more upsetting for the prestigious studio, which coincidentally celebrates it's one hundredth birthday this November.

Principal photography on _Sign of the Times_ is set to being next month in Atlanta, Georgia. With a release date only two years away, Mason Films will be fast tracking this project. Expect casting announcements in the coming weeks.

* * *

 _ **WYATT LOGAN TO PLAY WILL LANCASTER IN TIME TRAVEL FLICK**_

 _By Katie Drummond_

One week remains until rehearsals begin in Atlanta, Georgia for Mason Film's new adaptation of the hit novel _Sign of the Times_. Will Lancaster was the only role left to cast; after Garcia Flynn was announced last week for the role of, villainous yet misunderstood, Gabriel Flores. Since then, supposedly leaked names on the shortlist to play Will Lancaster have been floating around online. One name, Noah Cartwright, was dismissed immediately. Mr. Cartwright was attached to the project when the screenplay had been all but guaranteed to RH Studios. The unexpected production deal shake up resulted in his name being removed from the project.

In the end, the man swooping in to secure the role at the last minute is none other than Mr. Action himself, Wyatt Logan. This casting is a definite coup for the fledgling studio and will all but guarantee lucrative box office returns. Wyatt Logan's latest film, _Delta Force: Heavy Shadow_ , earned a staggering $182 Million in its opening weekend alone.

Rehearsals for _Sign of the Times_ are set to begin next week, with Principal Photography commencing two weeks later. Mason Films has slated the film's release for Summer 2020.

* * *

" _This is Lucy Preston's phone. I'm either writing, unconscious, or on a plane so leave me a message and if it's thoughtful enough I might call you back. Maybe."_

"Oh my god, sis! First day of rehearsals! Congrats! Call me when you're done! I want to hear all about it! Also let me know when I can hop a plane to Atlanta and visit the set! I'm dying to see your words in action! PS - ignore whatever voicemail mom leaves you. It's your life, your book, your screenplay. Not hers. You have to do what's right for _you_. Not her. Love you! Call me!"

" _This is Lucy Preston's phone. I'm either writing, unconscious, or on a plane so leave me a message and if it's thoughtful enough I might call you back. Maybe."_

"Lucy, seriously, you did this because you knew RH was going to cast me in the lead, didn't you? Look, I know we ended things...abruptly. I'm sorry about that. But really, to impact my career like this is sort of childish, don't you think? I've had exes take revenge before but not like this."

" _This is Lucy Preston's phone. I'm either writing, unconscious, or on a plane so leave me a message and if it's thoughtful enough I might call you back. Maybe."_

"Lucy, it's your mother. I know you start rehearsals in Atlanta today and I suppose, since I haven't heard from you, that you decided to leave without saying goodbye. I am disappointed and hurt. Yes, I'm still upset you chose Mason Films instead of RH Studios, but that's business. It should not affect us personally. True, we've only talked about working together your whole life and you gave up what might be our _one_ opportunity to do so, but you're still my daughter no matter how many of your decisions I disagree with. Please call me when you land so that I know you've arrived safely. Good luck, sweetheart."

* * *

Lucy Preston takes in a deep breath as she steps into the terminal at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Small enclosed spaces are not her friends and a plane floating at extremely high altitudes is a small enclosed space if she's ever seen one. Thankfully, Mason Films sprung for first class so at least she had leg room.

She jostles the strap of her carry on to pull her phone out of her pocket and holds it tightly in her hand, the thought of leaving it off is much too tempting. She lets out a long suffering sigh as she remembers the car service is supposed to call and tell her where they'll be meeting her and what time. She has no choice but to turn on the infernal contraption.

She used to love her phone but lately, as in the past year and a half, it's been more of a ball and chain than a window to the world.

First, her second novel, _Carbon Copy_ , bombed and her publisher called to advise her if her third novel didn't sell they would not be renewing her contract. Mere months after that horrible failure, a Google alert popped in her inbox cheerfully informing her that her fiancé had been caught cheating with his latest costar. There were even photos to prove it. Wasn't the internet a wonderful place? And, as he was currently away filming, her phone then became a way for him to harass her for forgiveness. He didn't want to get back together - except they hadn't officially broken up at the time of this voicemail - but he wanted to apologize and explain.

Once news broke that she and Noah had ended things over his affair with a very married actress, her phone was suddenly ringing off the hook. Tabloid journalists and gossip columnists were all dying for her side of the story like there was some complicated tale to tell.

Honestly, it was so simple.

Girl met boy. Boy was an actor on a film her mother was producing. Girl liked Boy. Boy liked Girl. Boy proposed to Girl. Girl accepted. Boy was having trouble finding work. Girl became best selling author. Boy begged Girl to write him a vehicle for his non existent career. Girl wrote second novel and tailored it to be "shootable" per her mother's instructions. Girl hated novel. Publisher liked it. Novel bombed. Boy got a "better" role in a spy thriller and left for Vienna to film. While he was gone Boy fell in love with Married-Girl. Boy and Married-Girl (who is no longer married and is currently engaged to Boy) now live in a mansion off Mulholland while Girl lives alone in a condo with her cat.

Actors. God, she hated them.

Seriously, she would never date another one. Never.

But that was all in the past. Now her phone is a torture device her mother uses for manipulation and guilt trips. The screen lights up in her hand and her notifications come flooding in. So. Many. Emails. She had no idea being a producer meant your inbox would never look reasonable again.

Three voicemails.

Her mother, of course.

Her sister.

And—

Seriously? Noah called her? After all this time why can't he just leave her alone. She never promised _Sign of the Times_ to him. She promised him _Carbon Copy_. _Carbon Copy_ will never be made into a movie. _Thank God_. It was written like a movie and no one read it. Her heart was never in it and now it was a blemish on her career.

Kinda like Noah was a blemish on her romantic past.

She is not going to call him back. Nor is she going to call her mother.

Her mother kept saying Lucy's decision to go with Mason Studios wasn't personal and shouldn't affect them but her tone always indicated the opposite of her words. Lucy is under enough stress just trying to get this movie made. She doesn't need Carol Preston's judgment and guilt trips piled on top of that.

After struggling with the luggage cart at baggage claim and nearly running over her own foot several times, she finally makes it to where the car service told her to meet and finds no one there waiting on her. She checks her phone again, but there has been no update since her last phone call half an hour ago. She huffs at the time. She has an hour and a half until the table read starts and she needs to check in to her hotel first. She's going to be pushing it for time.

So she calls.

"We're so sorry, Ms. Preston. There must have been some misunderstanding. The studio booked the car for both you and Mr. Logan. His plane should be landing now and the car is on its way. It should arrive within the next thirty minutes."

"Great, okay, thank you," Lucy says with a bright fake smile and forced politeness. "I appreciate that." She hangs up the phone and shakes her head. " _Actors_."

Then she waits, and waits, and finally a black luxury town car pulls up to the curb.

"Ms. Preston?" The driver asks as he exits. She nods, and he takes her bag from her before ushering her into the vehicle. "Mr. Logan should be meeting us shortly," the driver says as he shuts the door.

Now is probably as good a time as any to call her sister. Amy Preston picks up on the first ring.

"Oh my god, are you there? Is it amazing? When can I come visit?"

"Hi, hello to you too, sister dear," Lucy greets with a laugh. "I'm not at the soundstage yet. I'll call you when I am. Right now, I'm sitting in a town car outside baggage claim waiting for _Mr. Action_ ," she pauses and rolls her eyes at Wyatt Logan's press nickname before she continues, "to grace us with his presence. He's going to make me late."

"Maybe his flight was delayed."

"Or maybe the studio couldn't afford two cars and decided catering to his schedule was more important than mine. Since he's an _actor_ and all," she replies.

Lucy can practically hear Amy rolling her eyes at her over the phone.

"Not all actors are like Noah and what's-her-name, you know," Amy says with a light chuckle. Amy suddenly gasps and Lucy knows exactly what's coming next. "Oh, wait! Whats-her-name! The actress! Wasn't she Wyatt Logan's—"

"Yes, she was."

"Oh my god, and you're about to share a car with him! Won't that be awkward? I mean your ex-fiance and his ex-wife—"

"Why should it be awkward for us? I've never met him. And it's certainly not _my_ fault Noah can't keep it in his pants," Lucy answers with a shrug. "He can't blame me. I didn't do anything."

"Yeah, but doesn't it make you think about what happened?" Amy asks. "I mean it would make me relive the past at least little bit."

"He probably doesn't even know who I am," Lucy assures her. "I'm a novelist and screenwriter. I'm nobody in the world of celebrity. He probably doesn't have a single idea who Noah was engaged to before he stole another man's wife."

"Lucy," Amy says with a chuckle. "Seriously? Your name was in all those articles last year just like his. They mentioned _Sign of the Times_ every chance they could."

" _Amy_ ," Lucy mimics with a shake of her head before she remembers Amy can't actually see her and continues. "I doubt he read any of those. Why would he? I didn't. The two of us lived the drama. We didn't need to read the recaps for the general populous. Trust me, Wyatt Logan has no idea who I am or that I was ever engaged to Noah Cartwright."

"Oh, that's who you are!"

She jumps in alarm at the sudden voice and her phone goes sailing into the ceiling of the town car. It hits with a thud and then falls to the floor with a clatter between her seat and the rear passenger door. The rear passenger door that now stands open with Mr. Action himself peering at her through a pair of black wayfarer sunglasses.

She blinks at him for a long moment as he steps inside the car and sits down next to her. She doesn't even register her sister's panicked voice yelling her name from the phone on the floor.

He smirks at her, picks up her phone and holds it to his ear. "Hi, Amy, is it? Ms. Preston seems to be in shock." There's a moment where Lucy can hear her sister squeak and then utter his name before he's nodding against the phone. "That's me." More words are exchanged between them and then a moment later he grins at Lucy and ends the call. He holds the phone out to her expectantly. "Your phone, ma'am."

The driver closes the car door as she hesitantly reaches out and takes her phone from him.

"Um, thanks," she says awkwardly. "I'm—"

"Lucy Preston, I heard," he interrupts with a crooked smile. "And clearly you know who I am. So, I'm fairly certain we can skip the introductions, ma'am."

She bites her bottom lip at that second "ma'am." What the hell? How old does she look? Granted she's just wearing jeans, an old John Denver t-shirt, and a cardigan but she works hard to keep her skin moisturized and smooth. She _does not_ look old.

He leans back in the seat and stretches his legs as far as he can, which isn't far, and then resolutely ignores her. His RayBan shades seem to be sufficient privacy because he doesn't attempt to speak to her for the next 20 minutes. She checks her watch and realizes they're now down to forty minutes before the table read. Her knee starts bouncing anxiously and she huffs.

Atlanta traffic at lunchtime?

They are definitely going to be late.

"Don't worry," he says. "They can't start without me."

She rolls her eyes so hard she suspects they almost fall back into her head. She plans to keep her mouth shut but then she catches a whiff of something. Something that smells like...whiskey. Wyatt Logan lets out a long exhale and _she knows_ where the odor is coming from. She feels frustration rising in her chest. Is he kidding?

"Are you drunk?"

"No, ma'am."

"So, what, you just bathed in whiskey this morning then?" She asks. Does he really think he can lie so blatantly and get away with it?

"No. I'm not drunk. I'm what they call hungover," he clarifies. He still doesn't even bother to turn and face her. Did she mention she hates actors? Because she _really_ hates actors. And then, as if he senses he's getting on her last nerve, he continues and ends his sentence with a pointed, " _Ma'am._ "

She is going to kill him. The movie will have to recast. Maybe Chris Pratt has an opening in his schedule? He would make a great Will Lancaster. "You know, we're practically the same age. You can stop calling me ma'am."

He pulls the shades down to the bridge of his nose while an infuriating sideways smirk forms on his lips and looks at her through one open bright blue eye. "Sorry," he says with a chuckle. "Force of habit."

"From what?" She asks with a scoff

" _Delta Force_ ," he replies, sideways smirk and one eye still firmly focused on her. "The soldiers I consulted with on that film made it clear they were taught to be polite, and, after all, aren't I paid to make my performance as genuine as possible?"

"Yeah, well, this isn't _Delta Force_ so you can stop calling me ma'am."

"Speaking of," Wyatt says as he suddenly sits up and turns to face her. "I've actually been wanting to talk to you about something. I have questions about the script."

Questions about the…

"We haven't even done the table read yet," she says with a furrowed brow and a skeptical stare.

"I know, it's just, well, Will is supposed to Delta Force and I just released a movie that was literally about a Delta Force operation. I think I can maybe help...flesh him out a little more," Wyatt tells her with a casual lift of his shoulder. "For instance, the 'ma'am' thing we just went through. The only person you have him calling ma'am in the script is Agent Carter. He would definitely, at least, call Leslie ma'am. If for no other reason than he thinks she's the smartest person in any damn room." While he talks he takes off the shades and hangs them off the rounded collar of his t-shirt and suddenly she's staring at the full force of two completely unreal blue eyes instead of one.

To say she is unprepared is an understatement. It would be so easy to sink into those sparkling blue pools of his. But _she won't_. She will not. Not now, not ever.

It takes everything in her to look away from them and form a verbal response to his statement. "But she's not in any position of authority over him. Not technically."

"Not technically?" He asks with a chuckle. "So, you're saying she _does_ have authority over him?"

"You've read the script," Lucy replies with a smirk of her own. "Does he ever _really_ deny any of her orders?"

"No, he trusts her judgment too much for that. Not to mention, he's head over ass in love with her," Wyatt states with a nod. "All the _more_ reason he would be calling her ma'am. Not all the time, but once in a while at least."

"If she's anything like me then she would _hate_ that," Lucy tells him with a huff. "He already grates on her nerves by being so reckless. You want him to annoy her with _that_ too?"

He grins slowly and shrugs. "Maybe it could be their thing, you know, like a bit."

Her eyes connect with his for a long moment and despite her irritation she feels a shy smile tugging at her lips. Is he flirting with her? His eyes are roaming her face with clear interest and she can feel the blush rising to her cheeks. How long has it been since someone's looked at her _like that_? Looked at her like she's a riddle they can't quite figure out? Noah only looked at her that way in the very beginning and Jonas, her current boyfriend, has _never_ looked at her like that. She has seen Wyatt Logan in pictures and thought he was handsome, but his looks have nothing on the way his eyes are taking her in right now. It feels like he's trying to memorize her face, commit _all_ of her features to memory. It is jarring and she can feel him pulling her in, like a moth to a flame.

No. _No._ She thinks as she pulls her lips into a stern line and leans as far away from him as she can. No actors. Never again. Not even one as enticing as Wyatt Logan.

 _Actors bad_.

"Yes, well, it's not in the book. So, thanks for the input, but I'm going to say no," Lucy replies as she turns to look out the window.

A wave of anger at her own weakness hits her and collides with a wave of resentment toward the actor sitting next to her. How dare he make suggestions to her script? The studio loves her script. So do all the other actors in the cast that have met with her. Just because he's Mr. Action doesn't mean he knows everything. She crosses her arms over her chest and heaves an angry sigh. She knows he can read her emotions from her body language. She's normally better at hiding her heart but something about him sets her on edge. Working with him is going to be _hell_ and they haven't even starting working yet.

She hears the irritated pinch in his voice when he responds in a low tone, "Whatever you say, _ma'am_."

Now he's just doing it on purpose. She tries to stay quiet and forget he's there but her aggravation festers until she can't help but say _something_. She whips her head around to face him and points a glare at him that she hopes communicates the burning anger she feels. How. Dare. He.

For once, she lets her emotions flow out of her before she can shove them down and hide them away. "You know, everyone else _loves_ my script. They have no issues. Flynn even complimented my rewrites that incorporated his home country and his accent—"

"I see, so you're open to Flynn's suggestion but not mine. Is that it then?" He asks with a glare of his own.

His interruption would be enough to piss her off alone if he hadn't already managed that with his _suggestion_.

"Maybe if you didn't plan on showing up to your first day hungover and drenched in whiskey I'd be a little more open to it," she fires back. "But as I am the only one in this car who seems to be taking this table read seriously, I reserve the right to reject any _suggestions_ you may have."

"How do you know I'm not taking this seriously?" He asks as his voice hardens.

His formerly bright eyes are now flinty like steel. She fights off a shiver. Damn him. Why is she reacting this way? Her irritation only grows and she has no idea why.

"You're hungover and you clearly have no concern for being punctual," Lucy tells him with disgust evident on her face. "Some of us don't have other projects to fall back on, _Mr. Action_. This book and this movie are all I have. I need it to be perfect."

"Or maybe you're just bitter because I'm starring in it instead of your douchebag ex-fiancé," Wyatt says as he throws a little extra venom behind 'ex-fiancé.' He puts the shades back on his face and turns to look straight ahead at the seat in front of him.

At least she doesn't have to look at his eyes anymore. She's certain her muddy brown ones are practically black with rage as she narrows her eyes and focuses them on his slackened posture and the tight clenching of his jaw. She cannot believe he just went there. She's nearly blind with fire and fury while she searches for words. _Any words_.

She doesn't give a damn about Noah Cartwright. Wyatt is right. Noah is a douchebag. She sees that now and he'll never fool her again. So that's not what's upsetting her. No, what's upsetting her is Wyatt Logan's assumption that she would be desperate enough to still want a man who threw her away like she meant nothing. He never even really broke up with her. He just assumed she saw the news and that they were over. Never mind that they'd been planning a wedding or intending to spend their lives together.

(Wow, had she ever dodged a bullet with that one.)

Wyatt Logan must think she's the saddest and loneliest woman in the world if he thinks she's bitter about not working with Noah Cartwright. Lucy couldn't give a single fuck about working with Noah. Though, it might have been easier to work with _him_ rather than Wyatt Logan.

No, what pisses her off more than anything is that she's bothered by the idea that this asshole sitting next to her thinks she still wants a man who treated her so poorly. She is strong, She has dignity, She is _proud_. She doesn't need anyone. Not Noah Cartwright. Not Wyatt Logan. Not even her mother.

She can do all of this on her own.

And Wyatt Logan, can just…

"Go to hell," she spits with all the intent to wound she can muster.

He's probably heard worse but getting those words out is a big deal for her. She contemplates firing back about his fiancé stealing ex-wife but that feels somehow meaner than wishing him eternal damnation. Besides, she will not stoop to his level.

He seems to deflate immediately, the shades come off, and her eyes meet his again. This time she sees regret. Maybe an apology, but as he opens his mouth to speak the car stops and her door is opened. He stammers and stares at her for a moment longer before she huffs in irritation.

She doesn't have time for this, _for him_. She now has twenty minutes until the table read starts and she needs to check in to her room first. So does he for that matter.

She rolls her eyes at him and steps out of the car. The driver hands over her suitcase and then she's off. Away from him and away from whatever just happened in that town car. She hears his rushed footfalls behind her as she crosses the lobby and approaches the check in desk. She gives the hostess her name with a forced polite smile as he comes to a stop next to her.

"Lucy—"

"Forget it, _Logan_ ," She says. He used her first name. No one told him he could use her first name. Now, she refuses to use his. "Don't bother. We don't have to like each other. We just have to work together."

The hostess holds out her room key and Lucy takes it. She turns and heads off to her room, leaving Wyatt Logan in stunned silence. She wonders if a woman has ever walked away from him before. She wonders how many times he's charmed himself out of an argument. Well, he can't charm her. She won't let him.

Even if his impossible blue eyes looked genuinely remorseful.

 _Dammit._

* * *

The table read was mostly successful. Everyone stuck to the words on the page except for, surprise, Wyatt Logan. He tried his damndest to throw in the 'ma'am' bit. She let it slide but made it clear to Connor Mason and Denise Christopher that it would not be welcome when it came time to put the scene on film.

She stopped him a few times when he tried to change other lines. Her words were all chosen with specific intent and crafted to invoke just the right feeling. Why couldn't he understand that?

They get back to the hotel at the same time. He's angry at her for correcting him at the table read and she's angry at him for just about everything else. They don't speak. As soon as they step into the lobby they part ways. He heads to the hotel bar and she goes straight to her room.

She shakes her head as she watches him sit down at the bar from where she waits for the elevator. He started the day drunk so why wouldn't he end it drunk too? _Asshole_. She created the character Will Lancaster and she loves him, but some part of her is afraid Wyatt Logan is going to turn her against her own creation. If he keeps changing Will's lines and trying to supplement her material he _will_ stress her out to the point of breaking.

Is that what he wants? Is he intending to break her?

By the time she reaches her room she is fuming. Mason and Denise talked to her about turning _Sign of the Times_ into a franchise and if that happens she'll be stuck working with Wyatt Logan for years to come.

 _Hell no. No._

An idea hits her then and she smirks to herself. She brought Will Lancaster into this world and she can sure as hell take him out. She forgoes unpacking and pulls her laptop out of her carry on. She can't get vengeance on Wyatt Logan but she can get vengeance on Will Lancaster.

Maybe it _is_ time for a little rewrite.

* * *

She hands the pages to her executive producer, Denise Christopher, the next morning. Denise sighs and grins knowingly at her.

"Lucy," she says in a tone that sounds eternally patient. "You don't really want to end the movie this way. I know you don't."

"Yes, I do," Lucy says as she holds herself as tall as she can and crosses her arms over her chest.

"You want to end the movie with Will Lancaster sacrificing himself to save Leslie Porter? You can't be serious? This is supposed to be a fun, romantic, swashbuckling adventure. Fun being the key word. Do _you_ think self-sacrificing heroics are fun? Because I don't," Denise tells her with a small smile.

Well, when she says it like that…

Lucy's shoulders slump and she knows she's been beat. "Yeah, right. You're right."

Denise quirks a brow at her and smirks. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the way Wyatt was improvising yesterday, would it? Or the glares the two of you kept throwing at each other when you thought no one was looking?"

She blushes and looks down at her sneakers. "No."

Denise laughs before she replies. "Sure, it doesn't. So, we're throwing these rewrites out then?"

Lucy sighs dramatically and nods. "Yes, we're throwing them out."

Stupid Wyatt Logan. God, she hates him.

* * *

Principal Photography starts two weeks later, and Wyatt Logan nearly ruins the first historic day of filming. She is not going to let him walk all over her. She let Noah and her mother do that for far too long. She will not let him do the same.

Mason does three takes of Will and Leslie's first meeting and in each one Wyatt throws in a "ma'am." When Mason calls cut he smirks at her like he's winning some competition between them. It makes her blood boil.

While the cast is taking places to run it again, Lucy approaches Mason.

"You and I talked about the 'ma'am' bit, didn't we?" She asks him. "We seemed to agree."

"Oh, yes, love, we do agree," Mason says in a low whisper. "But with their chemistry it seems to be working. Don't you think? I thought it might be worth a take or two. To give it a chance, you know?"

The logical part of her brain realizes he's right. Wyatt's chemistry with the lead actress is outstanding and he sells the bit completely. It's charming. But the emotional side of her brain cannot let him win. Not even if he might be right.

"Well, great," she says with a huff. "You've done that. And as you're the director, I can respect that decision. But, now that you've tried it, can we make him do the scene as written? However, many takes you need doesn't matter. Just keep doing it until he does it _right_."

Mason gives her a small grin. "I don't know. He seems set on it now."

"You're the director, this is my screenplay. We agree, don't we?" She asks as she shoots Wyatt an irritated glare. He's too busy flirting with one of the extras to notice, which only irritates her more.

"Of course we do," Mason says with a sigh.

"Good, then he's out voted. Make him do it as written," Lucy declares before she turns and heads back to her chair. She sits and waits, eager to see how Wyatt takes the news.

The minute Mason announces they're going to do the scene again, and this time they're going to do it exactly as written, Wyatt's eyes find hers. She smirks and gives him a coy wave, taunting him with her small victory. Wyatt refuses to do as he's told for five takes before his other cast members express their frustration and he _finally_ caves. They do four passes at the words as written on the page with different intonations and emphasis before Mason is pleased with his options. He calls final cut for the day and sends them all home.

On his way to his trailer to change, Wyatt stops by her chair.

"You're pretty pleased with yourself. Aren't you, Professor?" He asks.

Professor? He called her professor and sounded like such a smart ass while he said it too. It's a condescending insult. They both know it.

"Yes, I am. I'm the writer, you're the actor. You do your job and I'll do mine," she replies primly.

"Why are you so bothered by my suggestion?" He asks her with a challenging smirk. "Is it because you know I'm right? And that it adds a little something to the relationship? It works and you hate it because you didn't think of it first. Am I right, Professor?"

He looks so damn smug and for the life of her she can't come up with anything to refute his claims. But the smirk and the triumph in his eyes rile her up and she feels more frustrated than she's felt all day long. One short conversation with him and her stress levels shoot through the roof.

"Will you _stop_ calling me professor?' She asks. "What is with you and refusing to use people's names? I'm not a teacher so stop calling me professor."

He chuckles at her like her outrage is amusing and her anger deepens.

"You're not a teacher but you sure are a bossy know-it-all if I've ever met one. You think you know best and no one else can possibly be right like you're here to teach all of us how to do _our_ jobs. Until you admit that you may not have _all_ the answers, I'm going to keep calling you professor," he tells her as he grabs her unopened bottle of water off of her chair. "You're not drinking this, are you?"

She rips out of his hands and glares at him, wishing a glare could kill. "Now I will. Go get your own water. Or maybe you can flirt one out of the extras like you've been doing all day."

"Jealous, Professor?" he asks with a crooked smile and a wink.

"Go to hell, asshole," she mutters as she slings the strap of her bag over her shoulder and storms away.

She is _not_ a know-it-all. She created these characters. She lived with them. She knows them better than anyone. He can't blame her for being protective. Anyone would be.

She takes a second pass at a new ending for the film that night. This time Will Lancaster dies in a hail of bullets while trying to reach the time machine. She mentions it to Denise the next morning but tosses it before her Executive Producer even gets a chance to read it. Killing Will Lancaster may be therapeutic but it will not serve the story. She's still furious with Wyatt Logan, but she won't self destruct over him.

That would mean he wins.

* * *

They have extra time in the shooting schedule as they've managed to be ahead of their projected calendar. Now they have time to film a scene from the book they had previously scrapped. It may still end up cut from the film but they decide to shoot it anyway, just in case. She stays up all night writing the scene. Obsessing over her words in the book so that she gets the tone and the directions just so in the script. The pages are sent to the actors' hotel rooms for them to look over before shooting begins for the day.

She shouldn't be surprised by the knock on her door and she shouldn't be surprised by who she finds on the other side of it.

But for some reason, she is.

His mission in life seems to be to make her miserable with stress.

Wyatt Logan looks bleary eyed and unimpressed with the pages and a coffee in one hand and the other braced against the doorway. Despite how much she hates him, she can't help but marvel at how damn attractive he looks this early in the morning.

"What do you want?" she asks with an exhausted sigh. "I was hoping to get at least an hour of sleep before call times."

"These pages make no sense," he states quickly, as if he's ripping off a band aid.

Make no sense? How? It is word for word the scene from her book.

"You've got to be kidding me," she exclaims with a weary glance. "Can't you ever just do what's on the damn page?"

"Look, I'm sorry—"

"You got that right."

"Will you let me talk?" Wyatt asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Fine," Lucy says as she stands aside and motions him into the room. "What is the problem, oh wise _Delta Force_ Dreamboat?"

He quirks a brow at her and flashes her a small smirk. "Dreamboat, huh?"

She freezes and stutters nervously at her slip of the tongue. It's early and she's tired and maybe she shouldn't be talking until she's had some sleep. "Not that I—I don't mean that I think you're a—there was an article in _People_ that called you—stop smirking at me!"

He chuckles softly and stares at her for a long moment, a moment she almost lets herself sink into. There's no challenge in his eyes or any trace of his usual smugness. His blue eyes look soft and affectionate and she can feel her own glare warming the longer she stares back at him.

Oh god, this has to stop.

"You, um, you were wanting to talk about the scene?" she asks after the silence and the staring goes on for far too long. She quickly refocuses her gaze on the floor. She'll look at anything as long as she avoids his eyes.

"Yeah, I don't get it," he answers.

He doesn't give her any further clarification so she lifts her brows at him with an expectant stare and waits him out.

"To be fair, it's not just the new pages I don't understand," he says after the silence stretches out for a while. "I didn't get it when it was established as having happened off screen in that scene between Leslie and Gina either. But I didn't have to play out that off screen conversation so I didn't worry about it. But _now…_ "

"Now you have to find that headspace," Lucy finishes for him.

He looks anxious. It's the first time she's seen him as anything other than confident and she doesn't know what to do with that. How does she act around him when he's not pissing her off?

He nods and runs a nervous hand through his hair. "Right, and I don't get it. If his intention is to keep her out of trouble with Agent Carter then why tell Leslie at all? Wouldn't it be better for her if she had plausible deniability? If she doesn't know he plans to steal the machine to save his wife, isn't she better off?"

She immediately bristles. Why is he coming to her with this? She clearly stated his intentions in her novel. If he paid any attention to the narrative, he would know—

And then suddenly it hits her. The reason he had to come to her is crystal clear. She feels bitterly disappointed and yet oddly satisfied at his failure to properly prepare.

"You never read my book, did you?" She asks with a self-satisfied smile.

He gives her a nervous glance and lets out a loud exhale, as if he's been holding his breath since she answered the door.

"Not so much, no. I thought about running out to Barnes and Noble after reading the pages but it's four in the morning and they're sort of closed. So, I decided to swallow my pride and come to the source," he admits with a sheepish smile.

"Everything makes so much sense now," Lucy replies with a laugh.

It shouldn't be amusing, but it is. All his talk of her not having all the answers and who does he end up coming to when _he_ needs to understand Will better? _Her_.

So she has to mess with him. Tease him a little. How can she not?

"What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully? Had you come to me in friendship then you would have a better understanding of your character this very day and that, if you were an honest man, your struggles would become my struggles," she says as she deepens her voice in a husky horrible Italian accent and strokes her chin. "Kiss my ring, maybe I'll be your friend." She holds out her hand to him and grins playfully.

He stares at her with amused mirth in his eyes and when he speaks he sounds as if he doesn't believe what he's just witnessed.

"Are you—is this really the time for _The Godfather_ references?" He asks with a small genuine smile. "Who are you? This is not the hard ass Lucy Preston I've come to know in the last few weeks."

She laughs again and let's her hand fall from where it hung between them. "I can be fun when I want to be," she tells him. "Especially when I turn out to be right and someone has to eat a large helping of crow and admit that I _might_ have a slightly better understanding of the characters I _created_."

"That is _not_ what I'm saying—"

She holds up a hand and he immediately stops talking. She feels a strange sense of power over him and she knows she's enjoying it too much.

"That's what I'm choosing to hear," she tells him with a smirk and a chuckle.

He grins ruefully at her and sets his coffee aside to hold the script up for her to see. "Can we get back to the pages, please? My call time is in an hour and a half and I still need to learn these lines."

She rolls her eyes with a good natured grin still firmly in place and nods. "Yes, fine." She sits down on the edge of her bed and motions for him to sit down in the chair across from her. Once he's seated she continues. "It's not about keeping her out of trouble. That's what he says, but that's not what he means. You're right, if he meant to keep her out of trouble he wouldn't bother telling her. So, if it's not about that," she says with an encouraging smile. "What _is it_ about?"

He scratches the back of his neck and stares at her thoughtfully for a moment but offers no answer. His blue eyes look blank as he shrugs.

She sighs tiredly. "Come on. Put yourself in the shoes of a soldier who tragically lost his wife due to a stupid mistake and horrible timing. Then imagine the guilt of that weighing you down, realizing you have nothing left to live for, and accepting the idea that if you're gonna die then you're gonna die saving people and standing for something. You're not suicidal exactly, you just...don't give a damn. Life doesn't matter because you have no reason to live it."

"Trust me, I have no problem understanding guilt and not giving a damn," Wyatt mutters as his voice turns hoarse and betrays his emotions.

She's momentarily shocked by what she hears in his voice. Resignation, heartbreak, anguish. She processes all of it for a quiet moment and then goes on with her explanation.

"Okay, good. So keep those thoughts and feelings and then think about meeting someone who makes you hope again. Someone who challenges you and makes you want to be better. Someone who makes you think you might have a future and people to care about, after all. Someone you think you might even be learning to love."

His posture shifts awkwardly as she talks and she can feel his eyes boring into her, but she refuses to look up from her lap to confirm if she's right. His eyes are her weakness, but she feels the pull to look at him like he has his own magnetic field. There's a charge of emotions in the room that wasn't there before she started talking and she has no idea where it came from. It's just suddenly... _there_.

"I think I can manage that," he says softly, with a slow shaky intake of breath.

The emotions in his voice are unclear but they affect her nerves and she starts to feel anxious, antsy. As if the words are directed at her and she needs to escape the weight of them. But that can't be possible. All they've done since they met is fight and fight some more. Directing his words at her makes no sense. Besides, she promised herself _no actors_ and she intends to keep that promise. She keeps going, intending to ignore what may or may not be going unsaid in his tone of voice. It doesn't matter. It can't matter. She has to be wrong.

"But then you also know, you have baggage that you can't ask this person to carry for you. You can't put that on them. You can't leave any business unfinished or any skeletons in your closet. So you take the bull by the horns—"

He chuckles quietly and clears his throat. "Did you use the bull metaphor cause I'm from Texas or…?"

She bites her bottom lip to try and hide her grin. "Maybe. _Anyway,_ " she says as she nervously clears her throat. "You decide to tackle it head on. Whatever happens, you have to try. And as much as you want to save that love you lost, there's still this new person. This new _possibility_. A piece of your heart is still attached to them. Given all of that, what would you do?" She asks, finally risking a glance up at him.

His steady blue gaze was focused on the top of her head so when she looks up his eyes immediately find hers.

They are no longer bleary. They are clear and hopeful and...earnest. Like he's looking at her for the first time. Like they never fought in that town car. Like she wasn't the screenwriter who's been busting his chops and he wasn't the actor who's been making her life hell. In his eyes she can almost forget all of that. She can _almost_ pretend they are just Lucy and Wyatt, two broken people who feel _something_ they can't explain for someone they've just met.

His irresistible eyes hold hers as he answers her question. Try as she might, she can't look away.

"I would have to see her one last time. I would have to tell her so she knows that... _whatever_ it is we have it means _something."_

"Exactly," she says on an exhale. Her voice comes out breathy and needy and she knows she's been absolutely betrayed by her own warring emotions.

She feels something unnamed and tender tugging at her heart and she can't seem to push it away. She doesn't know what's happening between them right now, but she desperately wants it to stop. She cannot let it continue. _She can't._

"So," she says as she tries to get them back to business. "It's not about keeping her out of trouble it's about showing her he trusts her. It's about closure. It's about…"

"Saying goodbye," he finishes for her.

She nods and smiles prettily at him before she can stop herself. "By George, I think you've got it."

"We've gone from _The Godfather_ to _My Fair Lady_ ," he says with a chuckle. "Those are some varied movie preferences you have."

Her eyes and smile widen in surprise. "You know _My Fair Lady_?"

She should be putting the wall between them back in place but instead she feels it crumbling even further. What the hell is she doing?

His smile dims slightly and he lifts one shoulder. "It was, uh, the ex-wife's favorite."

She notices he doesn't say Jessica, like he feels she's not worthy of a name. She understands that sentiment, more than he probably knows.

"Ah," she says awkwardly. "Well, If we're going there then I'll tell you... _The Godfather_ was the ex-fiancé's favorite. We watched all of them on his birthday every year," she tells him with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "It was _awful_. I hate those movies."

"Hold on," Wyatt says with a suspicious glance. "This guy had you all to himself on his birthday and he wanted to spend it _watching movies_?"

"Yes," she says with a furrowed brow. "Wait, what? What's that supposed to mean?"

He can't be saying what she thinks he's saying. All the wanna-be starlets he meets everyday surpass her for poise and beauty by leaps and bounds so he can't be implying that he actually thinks she's _pretty_ , can he?

He gives her a look like she should just _know_ what he means before he speaks. "If I say it you'll be pissed at me again."

"I'm always pissed at you," she shoots back easily. She kind of feels bad about that but it's true.

"Right, but we're having a pleasant moment right now and I don't want to ruin it," he tells her with an amused grin.

"Really?" She asks with an incredulous expression. "You can't just say something like that and then _not_ tell me what you mean."

He lets out a resigned sigh and shakes his head but then meets her gaze with a sincerity that nearly steals the breath from her lungs.

"It's just that, well, you're...not exactly hideous," he says. He winces as he's saying the words like he knows he's going about this all wrong and she can't help but find him adorable. How is someone so famous so incredibly awkward? He powers through with a deep breath as he speaks again. "And anyone who doesn't take whatever time they can get to... _appreciate_...that must be an even bigger asshole than I am."

She smiles slowly and tries to fight off the blush she knows is coloring her cheeks. She fails miserably and shakes some of her hair into her face instead to hide it from him. So, he _was_ saying he thinks she's pretty. Her initial suspicions were correct. What is she supposed to do with that? Does she thank him? Does she compliment him right back? It's not like he really needs an ego boost. He was _People_ _Magazine_ 's Sexiest Man Alive last year. He knows he's attractive. He has to.

Given her blush and the way she tries to hide her face, he must see straight through her silence.

"Oh, come on, seriously?" He asks in dismayed shock. "You know you're beautiful, don't you? You _have_ to."

She freezes for a moment when his words about her echo her thoughts about him but tries to recover as quickly as possible with a grin and a shake of her head.

"I don't really see myself that way," she replies with a dismissive laugh. "I've always been...well, a nerd. The girl with her nose in a book and her head in the clouds. I listen to folk music, wear ratty old lady cardigans, and carry a notebook in my purse at all times to jot down ideas that might hit me throughout the day. I'm not exactly what every guy dreams about, you know? I'm not wild and free and flirty. I'm just... _me_. I mean, I'm sure you get it. You're around those kind of women all the time." She pauses and then grins at him teasingly. "I'm sure they throw themselves at you everywhere you go. You probably don't even have to _try_ , do you? You just point those baby blues at them and smile and I bet they fall at your feet."

"The worthwhile ones don't," he admits as he smiles at her pointedly. "The ones who might actually like me _for me_ and not the damn fame. I'm a quality over quantity kind of guy," he tells her with a modest shrug.

The implication that _she_ is quality hangs in the air between them and suddenly she needs out. Out of this conversation, out of this flirtation...just _out_.

"I should probably get some sleep," she says as she motions to the bed behind her. "And you probably need to get started on those lines."

He looks down at the pages in his hand like he's forgotten all about them and then nods. "Right, yeah, sorry. Don't let me keep you."

They both stand up and she walks him to the door. All at once it feels like the end of a date. She's not sure why. All they did was talk. But here they are awkwardly lingering across the threshold of her hotel room door like they're waiting for something to happen. What they're waiting on, she can't say. But it certainly feels like they're waiting on _something_. His eyes find hers again with a soft closed lip smile. She gets sucked in, as she always does, and leans against the open doorway with her eyes on his.

She notices he places his hand on the wall next to the door and his eyes drift to her lips. Before she even realizes what he's doing, his face is barely centimeters from hers. She backs up one large step and stares at him with wide eyes and a nervous gulp.

Did he just... _oh god_.

He just tried to kiss her. Wyatt Logan, Mr. Action, just tried to kiss _her_!

No, no, no, _no_. This is the opposite of what she wants to happen on this movie shoot.

She has a rule. It's a good rule and she made it for a very good reason. She will not break it. Even if a part of her is wishing she had just let him kiss her. Even if he'd called her beautiful and quality practically in the same breath. Even if he'd called Noah an unappreciative asshole. Even if she _maybe_ didn't completely hate him.

Oh no. _Dammit_. She has to hard reverse out of this, out of her attraction to him. She promised! She promised herself…

"Sorry," she apologizes as she worries her bottom lip.

He looks honestly remorseful as he backs up a step himself and shakes his head. "No, no worries. That was all me. I shouldn't have...well, you know. At least, not before I've asked you if you even _wanted_ to get a drink or coffee or something."

"Yeah, about that," she says as she runs a nervous hand through her messy hair. "I can't."

"You...can't?" He asks. His brow furrows at her wording and his head tilts in confusion. "Can't like...you're not allowed?"

"I have a rule," she says with a sigh. "A promise, actually. A promise I made to myself."

"Is it the one about business and pleasure?" He asks with a smirk. "Because no one in Hollywood gives a damn about—"

"No more actors," she blurts out. Probably more forcefully than necessary. But by now she is panicking. Wyatt Logan, _Delta Force_ Dreamboat, wants to ask her out for a drink? That cannot happen. It's a cruel joke, a trap set by the universe to break her heart all over again. She won't allow it.

She expects him to be angry or confused. Maybe even hurt.

What she doesn't expect is his blinding smile and loud rolling laugh. He's practically doubled over with laughter. His eyes are watering and his face his red.

He shakes his head as he finally gathers his composure, but he's still chuckling lightly as he speaks. "No actors?" He asks as a light laugh escapes him. "You live in L.A. We _all_ live in L.A. You can't swear off actors in L.A.," he says as the laughter threatens to overcome him again. "Everyone is an actor in Los Angeles—or claims to be. You can't throw a rock in that town without hitting someone with an acting reel and a headshot in their back pocket. Who do you expect to date if you eliminate every actor in Los Angeles? Plastic surgeons?"

Her eyes narrow at him and she sees red. Hot blinding red. So much red that she doesn't even dignify him with a response. She just slams the door in his stupid laughing face.

"Asshole," she mutters under her breath as she crosses the room and burrows under her covers. She actually considered letting him kiss her? Thank God she stepped back when she did.

Wyatt Logan is the last person in the entire world that she will _ever_ let kiss her.

She is furious and her anger keeps bubbling to the surface. She can't sleep. She tries screaming into her pillow. It doesn't work. Words she wanted to say but didn't bounce around inside of her skull. He's not even in the room and he's driving her mad.

She huffs and kicks off her covers. Sleep is pointless.

Time to see what new ending she can come up with _this_ time.

Two hours later, she strolls into the soundstage with a rewrite in hand, printed and stapled, and ready to be considered by Denise Christopher. In this version of the new ending, Will is crushed by rubble in an explosion at Murdock Industries while saving Robbie and the time machine. Still a heroic death, but _not_ a heroic death for Leslie or her love. He doesn't deserve to die a romantic death.

Not when the actor playing him is such a smug jackass.

That thought hits her as she's placing the pages in Denise's hand and she quickly snatches them back. She is doing the thing she promised herself she wouldn't do. She's letting her feelings toward Wyatt affect the character.

"Nevermind," she says with a huff and a roll of her eyes. She rips up the pages in front of Denise and tosses them in the trash. "It was a crap rewrite anyway."

She walks out of Denise's office with the sound of Wyatt Logan's condescending laughter replaying through her mind. God, she hates him. She hates him so much.

(She suspects she really doesn't though, and that suspicion just makes everything ten times worse.)

* * *

The next day the cast and crew meets up for drinks at the hotel bar after they wrap. She and Wyatt have been purposefully avoiding each other since she slammed the door in his face and they still would be if Rufus, their Visual FX Supervisor, didn't corner them both into a booth while he tries to chat up their new intern, Jiya.

Her shoulder keeps brushing Wyatt's and each time she scoots away she somehow ends up even closer. It's like when she moves he moves to fill the space. She's trapped on the inside of the booth and wants to go to her room and sleep. All this is doing is tempting her to give into their weird attraction even further than she already has.

"Hey, you know," Rufus says as he gestures to them with a beer bottle in his hand. "If you guys really wanna get back at your douchey exes, you should date. They would _hate_ that."

Jiya smacks Rufus' arm and he gives her an offended look. "What?" He asks.

"Oh, no," Wyatt says with a smirk and a dry chuckle. The sound is bitter and hollow to her ears. "The _Professor_ , here, wouldn't deign to date me. She has a 'no actors' rule. Apparently, she's too good for the likes of me now. Never mind that I would _never_ betray someone I loved the way her dickless ex-fiancé did or that I would _never_ use her for first dibs on a script. Nah, that doesn't matter. I'm an actor so I _must_ be exactly like him. Right, _Professor_?"

She pushes aside the shock of him understanding the full scale of Noah's crimes against her. She's told no one but Amy about how used he made her feel and she is unsure how Wyatt gleaned so much from the little he knows. Instead, she focuses on the sneer he puts behind the word 'professor' and the anger he makes her feel.

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head before she responds. "That is not what I said. In fact, I didn't say much of anything because you were too busy laughing your ass off. Stop putting words in my mouth, _Soldier_. Then again, keep it up," she tells him with a dark smirk. "Because the more you talk, the more vindicated I feel. You're not exactly doing yourself or your profession any favors."

"Yeah, well, who needs you anyway," he mutters angrily as he finishes the last of his whiskey. "You've been nothing but a pain in my side from the minute I stepped into that damn town car."

She doesn't want that remark to cut as deeply as it does. She shouldn't even care. But it does and she does. She doesn't want him. Can't want him. It doesn't matter what he thinks of her. (And yet she knows it does. She feels that it does in the way his words leave a bruise on her already battered heart.)

"You didn't seem to think I was such a pain when you tried to kiss me," she replies through gritted teeth. "Or were you drunk then too? How many whiskeys have you had tonight exactly? Don't you think that's enough?"

He scoffs at her. "Does it matter? It's not like you actually care."

"Wyatt—"

"Forget it," he says as he raps his knuckles on the wooden table. "I don't have to stay here and listen to the never-ending list of all the reasons I'm an asshole. Jessica made sure I was intimately familiar with that list _long before_ she left me."

For the life of her, she has no response to that. She tries but the weight of what he's just drunkenly admitted is too much. He walks away with his empty glass in hand and takes a seat at the bar. The bartender pours him another whiskey. She contemplates following him and apologizing but then one of the extras from today's scene slides into the seat next to him. She's tall and blonde and breathtakingly beautiful. Lucy quickly chickens out. He was right. Who needs her? Clearly not Wyatt.

That night she finishes a fourth rewrite, this time Will jumps in front of a knife that was intended for Leslie and he dies in her arms. "The world's just down one less asshole, right?" Will asks Leslie as he's bleeding out against her 1950s wardrobe. "They won't be missing much."

It's melancholy and macabre and Denise Christopher is sure to tell her so when she reads the pages.

"This doesn't feel like your other rewrites," Denise says observantly. "Those seemed angry. This one seems... _sad_." Denise pauses and then looks up to meet Lucy's eyes. "Do you not like your original ending? Why do you keep trying to rewrite it?"

"Well, I can't afford actual therapy," Lucy admits with a droll smirk and shrug. "So, this is the closest I can get. You're right, though. It's too traumatic. Just toss them. Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?" Denise asks worriedly. "Do you need to talk about something?"

"No, really," she answers with a shake of her head. "I'm fine. Just forget I ever brought you those pages."

She leaves Denise's office wondering how on earth she never noticed his guilt _before_. In all their conversations and fights, how did she not see that he carried around something so heavy? It should not have taken several whiskeys and an emotionally charged conversation for her to read that in him. It explains why he slips so easily into the role of Will on a day to day basis. Will isn't the only one with crushing guilt.

But what does he have to feel guilty about? Jessica was the one who cheated. Not him. Jessica fooled him the same way Noah fooled her and that guilt isn't their burden to bear.

She chalks it up to one of the many great mysteries of Wyatt Logan. She may never have her answers, but she feels as if she understands him a little better anyway.

* * *

" _Quality over quantity,"_ he said.

Yeah, right.

For the last four days she's spotted a different girl leaving his room each morning. She recognizes them as extras and barflies. His angry words about how she assumes he's like every other actor she's met come back to her and she scoffs. So much for Wyatt Logan being _different_.

And yet…

They've been filming for three weeks and this has never happened before. She's seen him flirt, but it never went beyond that. Until now. Until he walked away from her at the bar a few nights ago.

Good God, men are morons.

He's better than this. She doesn't know him well but she knows _that_ for certain. No one looks at a woman the way he has looked at her unless they are capable of genuinely caring for someone. She gets the feeling his ex-wife left him with a burden he doesn't deserve. She feels frustration at the sheer idiocy of his actions and before she knows what she's doing she's written yet another version of Will Lancaster's potential death.

He's temporarily distracted by a pretty face, which she is well aware is out of character for him, and ends up falling to his fiery death in the burning remains of the Hindenburg. This scene isn't even a rewrite of the ending. It means the character dies prematurely in the first act. After she prints it and staples it she realizes it's useless because she can't write Will out of the entire movie. Wyatt's already filmed almost half of his scenes.

She shoves the pages into one of her folders with the intention of throwing them in the shredder in Denise's office.

She forgets and doesn't even remember the pages exist until she's walking toward her hotel room door at the end of the day and sees Wyatt Logan waiting on her. He's leaning against the wall beside her door and holding a stapled packet of pages. His jaw is tense and his eyes are narrowed on the carpet, as if it's deeply offending him in some way.

She clears her throat as she approaches and gulps as his glare shifts from the carpet to _her_. He holds the pages up and gives her half of a snide smirk.

"Trying to kill me off now, are you?" he asks angrily.

Her eyes widen and she frantically flips through her script folder for the new pages only to find them missing. She stomps forward and rips them out of his hand.

"Where the hell did you get these?" Lucy asks as she glances over them to make sure they're the pages she thinks they are. They are. _Shit_.

"You dropped them on your way out of the hotel this morning, _ma'am_ ," he sneers. "I picked them up and was going to return them to you until I snuck a glance at the first page."

"It is not what you think it is," She replies with a huff, as she digs in her bag for her room key and avoids his eyes.

"I get that you don't like me. I even, on some level, understand your thing against actors. But this is my _career_ you're screwing with and on top of that I have a contract. You can't just—"

"Oh, will you relax?" she yells as she turns to glare at him. "I told you, it's not what you think it is. Those pages were going directly into the shred bin."

He scoffs at her and rolls his eyes. "Right, you know, I'm not a total idiot, Professor. Why would you waste your time writing pages you're not going to use?"

She pointedly ignores his question and goes back to digging through her bag. Where the hell is her room key? She needs to get away from him or, at the very least, they need to not be having this conversation in a very public hallway. She jabs her hand on a pen as she's frantically searching. She yelps, drops her bag from her shoulder and curses. Her head shakes as she studies the red mark, now covered in blue ink, that the pen left behind. It was clear the universe had no intention of letting her escape Wyatt Logan or this conversation.

"You were never supposed to see them," she replies in a quiet resigned voice. "It's...personal."

She hears a dry chuckle before he speaks again. "So, what? You're killing me for your own personal pleasure?"

She gnaws at her bottom lip for a long hesitant moment and then shrugs. "Yeah, kind of."

He pushes away from the wall, picks up her bag, and holds it out ot her. She still refuses to look at him. She feels childish and stupid. Denise knowing is fine, but _he_ was never supposed to find out.

"Do you hate me that much?" he asks. His voice sounds despairing, almost hopeless, and she finds her eyes meeting his before she can stop them.

"I don't hate you," she says as she takes the proffered bag from him. "You just... _drive me insane_." Her words sound harsh but her tone is soft. She's not accusing, she's explaining, and she's trying to make that clear.

He grins at her and nods. "The feeling's mutual, _ma'am_."

"See? That, right there!" she says as she chuckles and points at him. "You know I hate it and yet you _insist_ on doing that! Why?"

He tilts his head and lifts one shoulder with a reluctant expression as he answers her. "If I rile you up, you're more likely to talk to me. And, believe it or not, I do actually like talking to you. _Most_ of the time."

Her eyes widen and she gives him a look of disbelief. "Could have fooled me. All we do is make each other miserable."

"I don't think that's true," he counters with a shake of his head. "I don't actually _feel_ miserable while I'm talking to you. It's afterward that the misery comes into play. Like the other night at the bar."

His eyes are apologetic and she can feel him trying to turn the conversation toward the hurtful words he threw at her. She's already too drawn in as it is and she cannot let him win her over with a heartfelt apology. Because she _knows_ he will. The minute those words leave his lips she'll be a goner. Because, maybe, if he apologizes it means he actually does need her and she hasn't _always_ been a pain in his side. Maybe he'll stop finding random girls who can't mean anything to him other than a distraction and focus on _her_.

 _Maybe_ he'll actually ask her for that drink or coffee he alluded to once upon a time.

And that thrill of hope is her sign. Her sign that she has to put a stop to whatever is about to happen between them. She cannot fall for Wyatt Logan. She's put her trust in an actor before and it was returned to her broken and worn. What if, despite his insistence otherwise, he's exactly like Noah? What if he's drawn in by her talent and her _usefulness_ and has no real feelings _for her_? What if she lets herself fall and then he moves on to the next person who will further his career? She can't be a stepping stone for anyone else. It hurt too much.

So, she does what she always does with him. She picks a fight.

"You mean the night you started picking up random women and taking them back to your room?" she asks archly. "That other night at the bar?"

He stiffens and shoves his hands in his pockets. She sees his jaw tighten and watches as he takes a deep calming breath. She's pushed a sensitive button. _Good_.

"I'm not sure that's any of your business."

Ha! Not any of her…?

Okay, actually, he might have a point. They don't owe each other anything, and that's how she prefers it.

Isn't it?

"You're the star of my movie, aren't you? It wouldn't exactly be good public relations for us if it got out that you're bouncing from pretty extra to pretty extra now, would it?" she asks as she changes her approach.

He rolls his eyes at her. "Because _that's_ what this is about. _Business_." He shakes his head and she opens her mouth to speak, to defend herself, but he talks over her. "You know I see straight through this, don't you? You do this _every time_. We start to have a nice moment. I start to think that maybe you might actually—" he cuts himself off with a grimace and then his eyes flash with self reproach. When he speaks again his voice is hard and resentful. "—and then you go and throw a goddamn wrench in it. Every. Time."

"Can you blame me?" she asks in a raised voice. He's called her out. They both know it. But she can play that game too. "You tell me you're so different, Wyatt, but I never get to see that side of you. Not really. We had one genuine moment going over those script pages but otherwise you've been an arrogant, self-centered, _user_ and I put up with one of those for longer than I care to admit. I refuse to do that again."

" _That's_ what you think of me?" he asks with a glare. "You honestly think I'm the same as—Lucy, I would _never_ treat you the way he did. _Never_."

"Then prove it," she spits. "Drop the cocky playboy mask you've been wearing lately and prove it. Yes, Jessica played you. Noah played me, too. But just because your marriage ended doesn't mean you don't deserve a second chance at something _real_. Something _serious_. You're hiding in this persona you've created. You can't do that forever, Wyatt."

"I'm hiding?" he asks with a dark laugh. " _Me?_ I'm the one who's hiding? Take a step back and look in the mirror, Professor. You're hiding, too."

"Excuse me?" she asks. "How in the hell am I hiding?"

"Your 'no actors' rule? That's bullshit," Wyatt answers with a shake of his head. "You're scared. Terrified, actually, of moving on. You're letting _him_ dictate your decisions. You're hiding behind your heartbreak and you're using Noah as an excuse. You know that Noah wasn't a bastard just because he was an actor just like I know the guilt trip Jessica laid on me before she left was her one last chance to _fuck_ with my head. How they treated us wasn't our fault but we wallow in it anyway. I know you're terrified, Lucy, because I am, too. So, yeah, maybe I am hiding, but before you lecture me about it you might want to examine your own behavior lately."

His words weigh on her and hang in the air between them. The truth he's just laid out rings in her ears. She doesn't want to admit to him that he's right. Not here. Not now. Not out loud. To acknowledge verbally that Noah still had some hold over her would mean she acknowledges what she feels for Wyatt. She can't do that. She's not ready.

He scoffs when she doesn't respond and then gives her a look that is full to the brim with disappointment. She feels it in every fiber of her being, all the way through to her bones.

"I'm not the only one trying to self destruct," he says in a gentler tone. "You deserve better than what you've allowed yourself to have, Lucy. You're...you're so damn strong and _brilliant_. You shouldn't let him hold you back from the things you think you might want—from the things that might be _good_ for you. I hope one day you believe that."

He doesn't wait for her to respond before he turns and walks away. She can't bring herself to call after him. If she does he will surely see the tears in her eyes and hear the pain in her voice. So she watches his back as he stomps down the hall to his room and listens as he slams the door behind him. She shoulders her bag and heads back toward the elevators.

Forget finding her room key. Solitude and quiet won't do her any favors right now. Instead, she heads to the hotel bar. She doesn't need to be alone. No, right now she needs a _drink_.

This time she writes his death scene on her laptop at the hotel bar after one too many rum and cokes. It's horseshit. Emotional and sentimental and full of bad timing and half proclamations of hidden feelings. But this time Will Lancaster doesn't die alone. Leslie dies with him. They go down together in a blaze of self sacrificing heroic glory. It's senseless and self-indulgent. She doesn't even bother to print the pages this time. She emails them to Denise and isn't the least bit surprised when her executive producer responds barely a minute later.

It's a one word response.

 _No._

Lucy has never been more relieved to read the word 'no' in her entire life.

* * *

She hasn't spoken to Wyatt in two days. She's not avoiding him, exactly. Just _ignoring_ him. It's harder than it should be to ignore him. She dives into work and uses her laptop and her books and her script pages for cover. It mostly works. She hasn't been speaking to him but she's been paying attention. She hasn't seen any other women leaving his room in the early morning hours and he hasn't been spending his nights at the hotel bar. He's been quiet and serious.

It only makes her want to talk to him more.

She's struggling with that very idea when her phone lights up with a text message. They're on break from filming on a stunt heavy day and, while it's interesting, watching Wyatt Logan in a fight—even a fake one—is immensely attractive.

There is something very wrong with her. She knows it.

She's dying for a distraction if only to keep her away from him.

So she checks it. She smiles brightly when she sees her sister's name at the top of the message, but her smile drops as she reads the words on her screen.

" _If you stare at Wyatt Logan any harder you're going to burn a hole right through him."_

How did she…

There's a sudden heavy weight on her back and Lucy yells out, a rare public curse leaving her lips. She pitches forward and nearly falls on her face. She would have, too, if a pair of hands hadn't grabbed her arms to steady her.

She feels arms around her neck and slender legs around her waist. She looks up to find Wyatt Logan staring at her with concerned blue eyes and feels his hands still holding her steady.

It takes Lucy longer than it should to realize the arms around her neck and the legs around her waist mean someone is on her back. An obnoxious laugh sounds in her ear and recognition dawns.

"Do you, uh, know this person?" Wyatt asks warily as he glances over Lucy's shoulder and releases her arms.

She willfully ignores the way her skin tingles in the aftermath of his touch.

"Unfortunately, yes," Lucy says as she leans forward slightly and licks one of the arms around her neck.

"Ew! Sick!" the voice cries as the pressure on her eases and the person hops off of Lucy's back. "You have got to stop licking me when I annoy you. It's _disgusting."_

Wyatt quirks a brow at her and gives her an amused grin. She rolls her eyes at him because she knows exactly where his mind is going.

"This _brat_ is my sister, Amy. Who I guess no longer calls me before dropping herself into my busy schedule."

Amy scoffs and pulls Lucy into her side for a hug and a noisy kiss to her to her temple. "You wouldn't have me any other way. You know it, I know it, even _Mr. Action_ knows it. Don't you, Mr. Action?"

Amy winks at Wyatt teasingly and flashes him a broad grin.

"Are you _positive_ the two of you are related?" Wyatt asks with a chuckle.

"Perfectly perpetually positive," Amy says with a nod. "She's my adorable stick in the mud and I'm her kick in the pants."

"I think you meant pain in the ass," Lucy corrects her with a soft laugh as she pushes Amy away.

Amy smirks proudly with her hands on her hips. "That too."

Mason calls places and Wyatt gives Amy a nod. "It was nice to meet you, Amy. Looks like I have to get back to work."

Wyatt gives Lucy a weak smile before he turns and walks back to set.

"You do you, Mr. Action," Amy yells after him. "You do you."

She hears Wyatt laugh as he gets in position for the next scene and tries to ignore how her heart jumps at the sound. God, it's good to hear him laugh. Has she ever heard him laugh? If she has she doesn't remember which still means he doesn't do it often enough.

"Oh my god, I am so glad I'm on set for a stunt fight day!" Amy exclaims eagerly. "We can play with the wire rig later!"

Lucy turns to give her sister a dismayed face before she speaks. "No! That is an awful idea! The wire rig is not a toy, Amy!"

"Ew! Are you hearing yourself?" Amy asks with a grimace. "You sound like mom."

She gasps and slaps a hand over her mouth at Amy's words. She removes it to run a nervous hand through her hair. "Oh my god, I do sound like mom. Where did that come from?"

"This is why you need me," Amy tells her with a chuckle. "Once you're done for the day, we're checking out that rig. I want to know what it feels like to fly and jump like a superhero, sis. You can't deny me that. _You can't_."

Lucy rolls her eyes at little sister before shaking her head with a defeated look. "Fine. But only _after_ everyone leaves. Okay?"

"Deal!" Amy replies excitedly. "Man, I'm so glad I'm here."

Lucy reaches over and squeezes her sister's hand with a fond smile. "Me too."

"So, what's been going on?" Amy asks eagerly. "You and Mr. Action getting it on or what?"

Lucy nearly chokes on her coffee but somehow manages to not spew it everywhere. She turns to Amy with wide surprised eyes as she swallows. "No!" she hisses. "And don't ask that so loud. The last thing I need is a rumor that something is happening with him."

Amy laughs at her and rolls her eyes. "Which means there _is_ something happening with him."

"There is not!" Lucy yells. A few crew members turn to look at her and she smiles sheepishly at them. "Sorry." She turns back to her sister with a glare. "There is not. Besides, I have a boyfriend, remember?"

"Oh, please, you don't like Jonas," Amy says with a knowing smile. "He's boring and only cares about his precious career. You don't want that."

"What if I'm also boring and only care about my career? Wouldn't that mean we're compatible?" Lucy asks as she take another sip of her coffee.

"It would if that were true," Amy agrees. "But it's not true so it doesn't. You don't _only_ care about your career. Yes, you love your job and I'm happy for you, but you care about more than that. Jonas doesn't. And as far as boring goes, you may be boring _now_ but with the right partner I think you'd be more than willing to take a few risks. You're not boring by nature. You're boring by circumstance."

"By circumstance?" Lucy asks with a disbelieving grin.

Amy nods. "I blame Noah. He used you and he hurt you and now you're afraid. That's okay, Lucy. It's natural to be afraid of something that isn't a sure thing, but you can't live the rest of your life that way." Her younger sister stares at her for a moment and then speaks with a determined expression. "I won't let you."

Lucy's eyes narrow suspiciously on Amy. She's seen that look before and it usually means she's about to shove Lucy out of her comfort zone. "I don't like the sound of that."

Amy smirks and shrugs. "You'll thank me later."

The request is made for quiet on set as shooting starts, and thankfully Amy's attention is captured for the rest of the day. She is enthralled by the scene that they are filming today, no matter how many takes they film. Stunt fights don't require much of Lucy's concentration so she goes about doing other things. She answers emails, decides what she wants for lunch, approves last minute costume changes, and arranges for an extra day of stunt filming when it becomes clear Mason isn't happy with the direction today's filming has taken.

They hang around until everyone has cleared out just like she promised and Amy wastes no time approaching the wire rig that is hanging off to the side. The harness sits on a chair next to it and Amy tosses it to her.

"Put that on," she instructs.

"Me?" Lucy asks. "No, _you_. I didn't want to do this in the first place!"

"Oh come on!" Amy yells with a laugh. "Live a little, Luce. Stop being such a baby."

Lucy knows Amy will not leave her alone until she caves. There's no use fighting her on it. She huffs and puts her legs in the harness. For the life of her though she cannot figure out the rest of the buckles and straps. Amy tries to help but she's just as useless as Lucy.

"Maybe someone's still here who can help," Amy tells her as her eyes shift to somewhere beyond Lucy. "I'll just go see who I can find."

There's a mischievous glint in her eyes as she turns and walks in the opposite direction of where her eyes had been drawn earlier. What is she up to?

"Didn't know you doubled as a stunt woman, ma'am."

And now she gets it. Amy saw Wyatt coming and bailed out. Cunning little brat.

"I don't," Lucy says with a huff as she turns to face him. "This was Amy's idea. She went to go find someone to help."

"You're in luck then," he replies with a smirk. "I'm in one of these torture devices nearly every movie. Bet I could buckle you in that harness with my eyes closed."

She looks down at the mess of straps and buckles around her legs and torso and then back up at him with a challenging glare. Having him so close to her would be torture, but there is no way he can do what he claims to do and she wants to rub his face in it when he fails. For her pride and for bragging rights.

"I'll take that bet," she says with a grin. "Go ahead, Soldier Boy. Close your eyes and go for it."

She knows she's chosen her words poorly the minute they leave her mouth because the shit-eating grin on his face has never been wider or brighter.

"That's what she said," he says quickly as he takes off his jacket and throws it on Mason's Director's chair.

She rolls her eyes at him but makes no quip in return. She walked into it. She knows she did.

He puts his backpack down next to the chair and then kneels in front of her. The top of his head is in her line of sight and the image of his hands and face hovering in front of her thighs and pelvis sends her mind spiraling into the gutter. He looks up and catches her eyes. His blue eyes have darkened and his crooked grin is confident like he knows exactly what she's thinking. She's not sure what's worse, she thinks as she feels her cheeks flush, him knowing or the fact that he doesn't seem to mind. She's so caught up in the desire in his eyes and his self-assured attitude that when he closes his eyes and gives the straps around her thighs a firm tug, she nearly groans. She catches herself and swallows the groan back down, but it's still there lodged in her throat. Oh god, why did she agree to this?

There's an undercurrent of attraction between them. There always has been. She's done a decent job of avoiding physical contact with him for the last few weeks. Until now.

She was smart to avoid touching him, she sees that more clearly than ever, because the more his hands lightly trace over each strap and each buckle the more this feels like foreplay. She's fighting the urge to toss her head back and release that groan that's still stuck in her throat and biting her lip so hard she can taste blood. It's all tantalizingly awful. She wants it, wants him, and she _shouldn't_.

She looks down at him again. His eyes are still closed and his hands are moving systematically to each buckle. He tugs the straps into place and tightens them, but she thinks his hands linger a little too long in between tugs. She thinks he's well aware of what he's doing. She thinks he knows what the ghost of his touch over her thighs and hips and _ass_ is doing to _her_.

And worst of all, she doesn't want him to stop.

"There."

Which is, of course, the moment he finishes.

She blinks and tries to recover as best she can but there's a heat between her legs now and want burning in her chest that she can't seem to suffocate. She knows her cheeks are tinted pink and her pupils are probably dilated. But _god_ can he blame her? His hands were firm and gentle and running across her waist, hips, and thighs with near featherlight caresses. She's not sure if his intention was to get her worked up but, whether it was or not, he definitely succeeded.

He stands and grins wickedly at her. Just based on that grin _she knows_.

She has her answer. The grin alone tells her he _wanted_ this. But then her eyes meet his again and she has further proof. His pupils are dilated too and his hands are still lingering on her waist, barely touching her skin where the harness has hitched up the hem of her shirt. His calluses are resting on the smooth skin of her hips and a heated trail follows each of his fingers as they absently caress her. It's both delicious and forbidden. She can't bring herself push him away like she knows she should.

The realization that he wants _this_ —wants _her_ to want _him_ —is both unbelievable and so typically Wyatt Logan. The push and pull that she constantly feels when he's around is stronger than ever. She wants him but she doesn't _want_ to want him. Does that make sense? It does to her but she's not exactly in a very clear headed place at the moment. Her senses are too full _of him_.

She's breathing heavier than she should be and his eyes are roaming her entire face. She's this close to throwing her arms around him and kissing him senseless—damn the consequences—when footsteps echo from the opposite end of the sound stage.

"So I couldn't find any— _oh_. Never mind. It looks like you found someone all on your own," Amy calls to them with a smirk evident in her voice. "She good to go, Mr. Action?"

His grin widens and his eyes lock on Lucy's.

"For now," he says. She gets the feeling he's not talking about the harness anymore. No, he's talking about _them_. Whatever just happened between them is not over and he's making sure she knows that. He takes a step back and turns to face her sister. "But I'm afraid I can't let the two of you use the wire rig without proper supervision. Especially if the Professor here can't even figure out the harness."

He tosses a teasing wink at her as he glances back over his shoulder, and she rolls her eyes in response.

Insufferable jerk.

"Fine by me," Amy agrees. "Guess you'll have to be our supervision, hot shot."

Oh god, she really should have never agreed to any of this.

In the next second the wires are hooked into the harness and both Wyatt and Amy are standing by to pull the tension into them and lift her into the air.

"Amy, seriously, why am I doing this again?" Lucy asks her with a huff.

"For fun, Luce, you know, that thing you used to have before you started focusing on this movie all the time?" Amy asks her with a teasing chuckle. "You do remember _fun_ , don't you?"

Wyatt laughs and then looks from Amy to Lucy with a wide grin. "You know, I really like your sister, Professor. She's exactly what you need."

Lucy shakes her head at both of them. "I never should have let you meet. That was a stupid mistake."

He chuckles and smirks at her. "Too late to change it now. You ready, ma'am?"

"To be lifted up in the air and hung by two thin wires? No, never."

"Too bad," Amy says as she nods to Wyatt and they both suddenly pull.

She yelps as she's thrown upward. The harness pinches against her hips and she finds it all very awkward. They lift until she's hanging several feet in the air. With nothing to brace herself against the sensation feels more like she's on the edge of falling rather than floating and it's terrifying.

"Try a flip," Wyatt suggests. She looks down at him and marvels at the easy smile on his face. There's no conflict or guilt in it. Not even a trace of his infuriating self-confidence. Just warmth and affection and encouragement.

"A flip?" she asks him. "Look, I know we only met a few weeks ago but I am the least athletic person on the planet. I can't do a flip!"

"Anyone can do a flip on the wires, Lucy," he tells her with an amused chuckle. "Just put your arms straight over your head and fall forward. The harness will pull you back around."

She gives him a suspicious look that he follows with an expectant look of his own.

"Trust me," he says. "Fall forward. It's _fun_."

The writer in her sees the metaphor in their current situation even if he doesn't. Trust him. _Fall_. Oh god, why the hell not? She takes a deep breath and releases her death grip on the wires to hold her arms up over her head and then propels herself forward. She falls down and back around with a gasp. Her stomach drops like she's on a roller coaster and an unbidden laugh escapes her lips. She beams at Amy and Wyatt as her hands grasp the wires again.

"I did it!" she yells excitedly. "Does it work going backwards too?"

Wyatt laughs at her with a good-natured grin. "I don't know, you tell me. Give it a shot." She looks doubtful—she's sure—but he just motions to the pull rope that's unfalteringly tight in his grip. "I've got you, Lucy. You don't have to worry. Between my grip and that harness, you're secure," he reassures her. "I should know," he says as his grin turns sinful and he tilts his head. "I buckled that harness myself."

She blushes and returns his grin with a shake of her head. "Yeah, with your _eyes closed_. How do I know you did it, right? You could have messed up and had no idea."

"Not possible, ma'am," he tells her as his expression turns serious. "If I had any doubts you wouldn't be up there in the first place. I'm not going to let you get hurt."

He looks so sincere. More sincere than she's ever seen him. What choice does she have but to believe every word he says? She nods, lifts her arms again, and falls backward. The same thing, the same thrill, happens again. She laughs and does it a few more times, falling backwards and then forwards, until the harness starts to hurt and her stomach starts to ache.

Wyatt and Amy are watching her with knowing grins, for very different reasons as they finally bring her down. Amy quirks a brow at her and looks from Lucy to Wyatt with a pointed expression as she mouths the words, ' _I knew it.'_ Her grin is secretive and conspiring.

In Wyatt's grin, Lucy sees only pride. Pride in her. He releases the pull rope once he's certain her feet are on solid ground and then rushes forward to help her with unclipping the wires and unbuckling the harness.

"So," he asks eagerly. "Fun?"

She tries to bite back a smile and fails because it was _fun_. It was thrilling and terrifying, but worth it. She wonders if the universe is sending her some sort of sign. Is the trust she had in him today supposed to be a metaphor for her life? Is someone trying to tell her to fall without fear and trust him to catch her? She tries not to let her thoughts drift too far in that direction. That's a rabbit hole best left until she's alone.

She notices, with Amy standing over his shoulder, he's a lot quicker getting the harness off of her than he was while putting it on her. He tugs a little too hard at one point and she braces herself against his shoulders to keep from tumbling over. But she falls into him despite her best efforts. His arms wrap around her waist from where he's kneeling in front of her to hold her upright. They're both frozen for a moment as the world around them steadies itself again and suddenly she realizes what position they're in. Her hands had moved from his shoulders to the back of his head and his cheek was pressed against her stomach. With his arms around her waist and his head pressed against her, it almost felt like she was holding him and not holding _on to_ him.

And she doesn't feel as awkward about it as she should. In fact, she finds herself not wanting to let him go. Without thinking, she runs her fingers through his hair, lightly tracing them across his scalp. It's a soft and gentle caress that her hands seem to trace over him of their own volition. She contemplates their conversation in the hallway and their conversation in her room nearly a week before that. She thinks of the guilt he carries on his shoulders and wonders if this is what Wyatt needs. If he needs someone to hold him and comfort him and assure him that he's _good_. She forgets Amy. She forgets all of their fights—if only for a moment—and tries her best to communicate that to him as he pulls his face away from her stomach and looks up at her.

She places one hand on his shoulder and then allows the other to trail across his cheek. His scratchy stubble bristles against her palm as her eyes meet his.

She smiles softly down at him and his arms tighten around her waist in response. She feels his need for comfort through that alone and suddenly she's scared. To feel connected to another person to the point where words are not needed to communicate means that connection is strong, intense, potentially _life changing_. She's just regained her ground after Noah. Is she really ready for this new life she carved out for herself to change? Is she ready for Wyatt Logan to swoop in and make her feel things she thought she would never feel again?

She has no idea, but she knows she needs room the breathe.

She places her hands on his shoulders and then her smile turns bashful. "Thank you. For helping us with the rig."

That seems to remind him where they are and what they're doing because he then releases her waist and focuses his attention on the harness again.

"Anytime, Lucy," he says.

She internally marvels at his tone. The last time they talked they had yelled at each other, thrown around accusations that while mostly true were also harsh. She never would have expected him to go from that to _this_. This helpful, protective, caring man whose voice currently sounds so tender that it makes her physically _ache_.

The harness goes slack and falls around her feet. Once it does he stands and smiles bashfully at her. "I, um, I should go. Early morning call time and all that," he says as he nervously clears his throat.

She nods. "Yeah, me too."

There's a stilted pause before he turns to Amy and grins at her.

"Nice to meet you, Amy Preston. I'm glad to know there's a Preston sister who knows how to live dangerously," he tells her with a wink. "Maybe you can rub off on her, huh?"

"I don't know," Amy says as she gives the both of them a wolfish smile. "Seems to me she's doing a good job of that all on her own."

Her meaning is clear, but not clearly stated, so both Lucy and Wyatt ignore it. They exchange an awkward wave before he picks up his jacket and his backpack and leaves. She watches him walk out of the soundstage in silence, afraid to say anything until he's gone, afraid she might give herself away.

"What did I just witness?" Amy asks once the door closes behind him. "I mean I might as well have been invisible. _Damn,_ sis. I thought he liked you but I didn't know that he _loved_ you. How did that happen? And why haven't I heard about any of this before now?"

Her head whips in Amy's direction so fast she's afraid she might suffer whiplash. " _What_? No! No, he doesn't love me. We're not even dating! We barely know each other."

Amy's brows rise and she gives her sister a skeptical glance. "Looks to me like you know _enough_."

She rolls her eyes at Amy and shakes her head. "I don't. I don't know any of the little things and I know hardly any of the important things. I don't know what happened with Jessica, I don't know what he was like in high school, or even how he takes his coffee. He doesn't know any of those things about me _either_. He can't love me. That's impossible. Besides, we've only known each other a few weeks."

Amy grins at her and shrugs. "Will and Leslie fell in love after only three weeks in your book, didn't they?"

"That's _fiction_. Fiction isn't real life."

Amy laughs and places a hand on Lucy's shoulder before meeting her eyes. Amy's eyes tell her they both know better as she speaks.

"Right, and life _never_ imitates art," she says sarcastically. "Besides, I don't know who told you that you have to know everything about a person before you can love them, but they were wrong. You don't have to know everything. You just have to have _faith_ in who they are. You have to trust them," Amy advises as she grabs the harness off the floor and puts it back where they found it. "And from what I saw today, you trust him. You trust him more than you've trusted anyone else in a long time."

Amy pulls Lucy in for a hug and then kisses her cheek as she releases her.

"Face it, big sis. There's a very real possibility that you are in love with Wyatt Logan and he's in love with you, too."

No, no that can't be true. She doesn't want that be true. She's been working so hard to avoid it. To avoid _him_. She's still denying it to Amy when she leaves the next morning but no matter what she says Amy doesn't believe her. Lucy is _adamant._ She is not in love with Wyatt Logan and he is _not_ in love with her. They fight _all_ the time. Well, not all the time. But _most_ of the time. She can count their civil conversations on one hand. That can't be good. Why would she want to be in love with someone she butts heads with so often?

She doesn't. She isn't. She can't be.

She _won't_ be. She's so frustrated with herself she wants to scream.

How could this have happened? How did she let this man affect her so much? It felt like a betrayal to her own heart, whatever is left of it. She had too much going on to be in love. She promised herself no actors and yet here she was letting herself have some silly crush on one. Well, _no more_. She refuses to be vulnerable to him anymore. What she feels for him is different from Noah and different from Jonas. The attraction is heady and addictive and he has the potential crush her heart completely if she gives in.

She's angry. Angry with herself, angry with her heart, angry with Amy, and—for reasons she knows are foolish—angry with Wyatt Logan, too. So angry that she feels she might breathe fire and set her hotel room ablaze with one frustrated huff.

She can only think of one way to rid herself of her anger. To rid herself of _him_. She's been doing it too long now to stop, anyway. It's her therapy. Her reminder to keep her distance. A way to ground herself in the practical side of her brain that keeps count of all the times Wyatt Logan has ever pissed her off. She uses those memories to fuel her fire and fan the flame. If she stokes the fires of her frustration then she can keep her heart safe from any more damage.

As soon as Amy leaves she sits down and writes. She writes out her anger and her frustration and the result is another version of a another death for Will Lancaster. It doesn't even matter how he dies this time. She just needs him gone. Out of sight, out of mind, out of heart.

Away from her and unable to make her feel _anything_ at all.

But when she hands the pages to Denise, she doesn't even glance at them before she tosses them in her shred bin. So much for the easy way out.

* * *

She's been avoiding him for almost four days. It's an insane accomplishment. It means dodging that second day of stunt filming and finding reasons not to go to the on location shoot. Not that she had any real desire to camp outside in a muddy field all day, but technically it was part of her job to be on set in the event they needed a last minute rewrite. As luck would have it, there was a more pressing rewrite for tomorrow when they were back on the sound stage. The scene was being moved to a different spot in the film so it had to be completely rewritten. After three days, it was finally good enough.

She decided she deserved a drink.

She should've known better because that's how he finally finds her.

He slides into the booth across from her as she sips her white wine at the hotel bar and gives her a pointed look. He doesn't bother saying anything. He doesn't need to.

The waitress comes by to take his order. He orders a whiskey. When she leaves his eyes find hers.

"You've been avoiding me."

"No, I've been working."

"And also avoiding me."

"Wyatt—"

"Is it because of the...the weirdness with the harness? If I crossed a line I'm sorry, but I thought—I thought we were on the same page. I was probably wrong," he says as he nervously clears his throat.

She sighs with a shake of her head. "You weren't _totally_ wrong."

They both go quiet as the waitress returns and puts his whiskey down in front of him. Wyatt nods to her as she leaves, ignoring the flirty smile she flashes at him as she does so. Lucy notices the number scrawled out across the bottom of the napkin that rests under his drink and points to it.

"You see, I was right, you don't even have to try."

He sees the number and scowls. He pulls the napkin from under the glass and crumples it up before dropping it on to the table. "It doesn't matter."

Her eyes widen and she gives him a small smile. "Not into random hookups anymore, Soldier?"

"Not since somebody pretty brilliant yelled at me in the hallway outside of her room, no. Turns out she was right," Wyatt tells her with a small sheepish grin. "They were a distraction and I was only hurting myself in the long run."

"And you don't want to be distracted anymore?" She asks.

"No, I don't," he answers confidently. "Not from what I _really_ want." His eyes find hers again as he finishes his statement and he holds her gaze. He doesn't flinch, he doesn't blink. He's certain, honest, assured. He knows what he wants and for some reason, she thinks he might want her.

"And what do you really want?" she asks the question before she can change her mind. She's terrified of the answer but she has to know. She has no choice.

"Well, _ma'am_ , that depends on you," he says before he takes a sip of his whiskey. "Why were you avoiding me?"

She thought she had successfully sidestepped that question already. She's not prepared for him to bring it up again. She takes a long sip of wine to delay the inevitable and allow her a moment to think about her words. She knows why she's avoiding him but she doesn't want to tell him that. She doesn't want to admit how often she replays Amy's voice in her head saying, " _...you are in love with Wyatt Logan and he's in love with you, too."_

She can't admit how hard it is to wake up every morning and convince herself her sister is wrong. That she doesn't want him. The he doesn't want her. That love isn't in the cards for them, at least not together. It's getting harder and harder to believe every morning.

Finally she settles on how to respond. "It's just...it's just easier."

He nods slowly. "Easier to avoid me than talk to me?"

"Easier to avoid you than to think about you," she replies.

There, honest enough, but not too revealing. She's managed not to show him her _entire_ hand.

He smirks and then narrows his eyes on her knowingly. "Did it really stop you from thinking about me, though?"

 _Damn him_.

She refuses to answer that. Instead she refocuses the conversation. "How can I think about you when I barely know you? All we do is argue and…"

"Flirt." He tells her with a smug smile. "All we do is argue and flirt."

She lets him slide again because he's not entirely wrong. "And we never talk about ourselves."

"Not much to tell," Wyatt responds honestly. "My life was pretty normal until I got out the Army and then I had to find something to do with myself. Started out as a stunt man, then stunt actor, and...well, the rest is history."

She rolls her eyes at him. "I'm not a journalist for _People_. I don't want your bio."

He sits up with surprised amusement, his attention is now intently focused on her. "Consider me intrigued then. What do you want to know?"

"How do you take your coffee?" She asks. Start out with a softball. Easy.

His brow furrows but his eyes are bright as he answers her. "Black, two sugars. You?"

"I only drink coffee in the event of an overnighter, but when I do I take four sugars and four creamers."

He scoffs. "That's not coffee."

"Yes, well I'm a tea drinker usually so strong coffee is not for me," she tells him with a grin.

He nods. "Okay, I guess that makes sense. Follow up question then, if you were going to have a cup of tea right now...what kind would it be and how would you take it?"

"Earl Gray, two sugars and a small splash of cream."

He glances down at her white wine and then back up at her with a thoughtful expression. "Noted."

She has no doubt he is filing that information away. She's learned that his mind is a steel trap. He learns his lines in record time and remembers every direction he's given. It doesn't mean he won't make it all up as he goes but he at least memorizes everything exactly as written _first_.

"My turn?" he asks.

She nods.

"What made you want to write?" he asks softly. "Of all the things that you could be doing with that brilliant brain of yours, why write? I mean you have a doctorate degree. You're _Dr. Lucy Preston_. You could be lecturing in some Ivy League auditorium right now."

She stiffens at that. She never told him she had a Ph.D. How would he… **.**

"Did you google me?" she asks with a teasing smirk.

He holds up his thumb and forefinger and chuckles. "A little. Are you gonna answer the question or—"

"Yeah, yeah," she says with a bashful grin. "I can't believe you googled me."

"When you say it like that it sounds dirty," he says as his wide smile turns lopsided, one half moon dimple showing itself.

She shakes her head at him throws a napkin, the one he crumpled up earlier, at his face. He easily catches it and throws it back. She manages to bat it away before she laughs lightly and answers his question.

"My mother loved history. She changed majors in college from history to business and then took that path in instead, but for a moment she thought she might like to teach. She did end up teaching, but not a classroom. Just me. She used to give me these books for kids about historical figures, and I loved them. I loved reading about history and the people who led us here, and then when I was a little older that love of reading led me to fiction. I loved Jules Verne. I devoured everything he wrote. His work was the perfect blend of technology and plot and history. I think he stuck with me most, and as I grew up I would write fiction in my spare time just for me. I never expected anyone to read it. I went to college and finished all my degrees and my plan was to be that professor you talked about. That was my goal, what I thought I wanted. And then Amy found out the password to my laptop."

She hears him laugh and then looks up to grin at him.

"Let me guess," he says with a knowing smile. "She found your stories."

"She found _Sign of the Times_ , actually," Lucy tells him. "She emailed it to herself, had it bound, and then sent it to a long list of publishers. Never said a word to me about it. Didn't even ask. She just _did it_."

"Having met your sister I can believe it," Wyatt replies with a chuckle.

"I was so mad at her," Lucy states with a laugh. "I was pissed, but she made me realize...I _love_ writing. Teaching would have been fun, I guess, but I love crafting a story, building a world, making people care about these people they can never meet. I love—"

"Making people _feel_ something?" he asks as he finishes her sentence.

She should have expected him to get it. But she didn't. It makes so much sense that he would. They essentially are two sides of the same coin. She writes the words and he performs them.

"Yes, exactly," she says with a nod. "So, as usual with my baby sister, when I got my book advance and it was clear I was going to make a career out of writing, I ended up thanking Amy. She shouldn't have done it without my permission but if she hadn't… **.** "

"You wouldn't be here," Wyatt agrees with a nod.

He does a sweeping motion with his hand, indicating it's her turn.

"Honestly," she says as she gives him a challenging look. "What were you like in high school? I've heard the public relations stories and I know what you tell the magazines. You were an outsider, didn't really fit in. And while I understand that, I don't think that's the full story."

"Well, you _do_ have a Ph.D. Can't fool you, Professor," he says with a teasing smirk. His smirk fades and he pushes the whiskey glass away from him before he answers. "Honestly? I was a punk ass kid who thought he knew everything. For most of it I was drunk and stupid. Barely attended high school, to be honest. I, um, got involved in a less than legal enterprise. Nearly got arrested and then had the sense knocked into me by my grandpa. That sense led me to the Army and when I got out I was so used to fighting and bruises that it seemed the only thing to do was make my pain tolerance useful. With my high school transcript and lack of funds, my options were kind of limited. Besides, I got myself into fights my whole life. Might as well get paid for it."

It wasn't what she expected, but oddly it fit. "Follow up question, what kind of illegal enterprise were you involved in?"

"Let's just say if you ever need something smuggled across the Texas and Mexico border then I'm your guy," he told her with a rueful grin. "It's not exactly something I want on my resume."

Her eyes widen and all of a sudden she sees him differently. Once upon a time, the man in front of her had been completely lost. He's not lost any more. He remade himself and that realization makes the person sitting across from her ten times more beautiful than he already is.

"Wow," she says as her mouth falls open shock. "I never would have guessed."

"Good," he says with a self-deprecating laugh. "I don't want to be that lost kid anymore so that's good." It's his turn to ask her a question and he lowers his eyes to the table while running a hand through his hair as he continues. "I, um, I read both your books. I finished _Carbon Copy_ just last night, actually."

She groans miserably. "You really didn't have to read both of them."

" _Carbon Copy_ was written for Noah, wasn't it?" It's a statement, not a question. He knows her answer without her having to give it.

"Is that really what you want to use your question on?" she asks him with a sigh. "You seem to already know what went down with Noah based on our previous conversations."

"I've made some inferences based on articles I read about the movie," Wyatt explains. "He was attached to the project and then he wasn't, and before the project was in development Noah Cartwright wasn't really anybody. He had a few small roles and television guest spots but it wasn't until you wrote _Sign of the Times_ and he was attached to the early development of the script as Will that _anyone_ else found him interesting. I thought it was...suspicious is all. And then after reading _Carbon Copy_ —the words on the page didn't sound like your words. And I would know. I've been butchering them for weeks now."

She snorts derisively at that and grins. "You aren't butchering them."

He breezes right passed her compliment like he didn't hear it. She is certain he did.

"So I started thinking about it and _Sign of the Times_ wouldn't have been in development until after your second book came out. So, that says to me, _Sign of the Times_ was never supposed to be a movie, was it?"

She drains the last of the wine in her glass and shakes her head. She hates talking about this. She hates admitting she was ever so easily swayed into doing something she knew wouldn't benefit her. She hates that she was convinced to do it by people who supposedly loved her. Remembering it _hurts_.

"No, it wasn't. And _yes_ I wrote my second book for Noah and it was the most idiotic thing I ever did. I had my mother in one ear and him in the other. Mom has always wanted us to work on a movie together. It's been her dream for as long as I can remember and Noah was struggling to be cast in anything. So, I thought I could please them both, you know? I mean he was my fiancé, and she's my mother. They are— _or were_ —important to me. I didn't want to let them down," Lucy says as she looks away from Wyatt and down at her hands.

She is still so embarrassed that she let someone else control her writing that she can't bear to look at him. It happened years ago and yet it stings like it happened just yesterday. Her words should always be personal and that was taken away from her. She will never get that back.

"I'd write a chapter and mom would tell me whether or not it would be feasible to shoot or I would go to describe a character and she would tell me to be as vague as possible so casting wouldn't be so difficult. Noah would make requests of his dream character and I would fit them in whenever I could and then before I knew it I was finished with the book and they had whittled away everything that made it _mine_. It was awful. I hated it. But my publishers liked the idea of writing a book with the intention of making a movie. They saw potential dollar signs and published it. They had more faith in it than I did," Lucy admits with watery eyes.

She wanted to burn that manuscript and still wishes she could burn every copy on bookstore shelves to this day. That thought crushes her. How can she want to burn her _own_ words? How did she let herself write something she hates that much? She feels a tear drip down her cheek and angrily wipes it away.

"All the time I spent promoting that garbage book _killed_ me. The one thing that had always been mine wasn't anymore, and then when mom approached me about _Sign_ I knew I had to keep partial control. I couldn't let her and Noah do the same thing to _Sign_. I couldn't let them ruin it."

She takes a deep breath and wills the pain away. It happened so long ago and all she wants is to move on. She wants to forget Noah Cartwright and focus on her writing. Her life. _Her future_. Not his. Not her mother's. _Hers_.

Wyatt's hand crosses the table to rest on top of hers and he squeezes her hands in a soothing gesture. She looks up and finds compassionate blue eyes watching her intently.

"Follow up question," he says softly. "If it weren't for your mother and Noah, what would _you_ have written?"

"It doesn't matter," she says dismissively as she tries to pull her hands from his.

"Yes it does," he says in a firm voice with an equally firm grip on her hands. "It matters. What _you_ want should always matter. What would you have written?"

She can't pull her eyes from his and she wants to because he's looking at her like all he wants is for her to be happy. It's hard to force herself to put distance between her and someone who genuinely wishes for her happiness. _Too hard_.

She can't admit to him what she wants. She can't allow him to know all her secrets. So, she tells him what she always tells herself. "It wouldn't have worked and, you know, follow up books never do as well as the first—"

"I'm not asking you why you couldn't do it," Wyatt says with a light laugh as his kind eyes continue to stare into hers. "Forget about all the reasons not to, just for a moment, and think about what _you_ want to do. What do you _want_ to write, Lucy?"

"I wanted to write the sequel to _Sign_ ," she admits quickly, as if she shouldn't be saying it at all. But his eyes aren't giving her any other choice than to finally divulge her secret out loud. "I wanted to do a whole series."

"So," Wyatt says as he squeezes her hands again. "Do it. What's stopping you?"

"I only have one more book on my contract with my publisher, Wyatt," she tells him with a shake of her head and tired sigh. "If my next book doesn't sell they'll drop me."

He gives her a look that is much too encouraging and hopeful, like there's nothing she can't do, and she feels her long lost idealism stirring. It's as if it's been asleep inside of her for too long and Wyatt has just nudged it awake.

"Lucy, if you write a story you don't care about your book won't sell anyway," he tells her. He's right. She knows he's right. She knew it when she was writing _Carbon_ _Copy_ and she refused to admit it. " _Sign of the Times_ was as popular as it was because you poured yourself into every page. Your heart was in that book. I thought your script was brilliant but your script has _nothing_ on your novel. Everything in it was so alive that it almost breathed. If a follow up book to _Sign_ is where your heart is then go with that. Follow your instincts. Your readers will love what _you_ love."

"You can't know that for sure," she says with a shake of her head. "You can't know they'll love what I love."

"Yes, I can," he answers with a chuckle. "I'm one of your readers now," he says with a smirk and a casual shrug. "I read both books, remember?"

She rolls her eyes at him as the corners of her mouth twitch upward, but keeps her lips tightly closed. She has no idea what she's supposed to say in response to that.

"So what if it doesn't sell? Screw 'em. You could find a new publisher in a heartbeat. Write what you want to write, Lucy. You're too good to do anything less than that," he tells her as he squeezes her hands one last time before releasing them.

He flashes her a bright supportive smile and sits back in the booth, perfectly at ease in her presence, and for the first time she wonders where the Wyatt of those initial weeks of filming went. That Wyatt was grumpy, smug, and combative. He was nothing like the Wyatt conversing with her now. Why does she have a feeling that the man she is seeing _now_ is the real him? Why does it seem like the guilt he carries stems from Jessica? How did she forge him into the resentful and resigned man Lucy first met? She did more than just cheat on him. She _broke_ him. Lucy has never once met Jessica and she finds herself wishing, for Jessica's sake, that she never does. Because the glimpses of the real Wyatt that he is letting her see are so stunning that she can't imagine anyone wanting to tarnish that.

Yet Jessica did, and that fact alone makes Lucy want to rip the other woman's hair out. She finds herself resentful that Jessica met Wyatt first when she so clearly didn't deserve him.

It's her turn for a question and she's not sure she should ask the question that plagues her right now. It's on the tip of her tongue but she doesn't want to cause him pain or to remind him of someone who left him wounded.

"Go ahead," he says suddenly. "I can see your wheels turning, Professor. I'm an open book, no matter how painful you think the question might be."

"Jesus," she says with a disbelieving laugh. "How do you _do_ that?"

"You're not as good at hiding your emotions as you think you are," Wyatt answers with a fond grin. "Now ask me what you want to ask me."

"The two times you have mentioned Jessica I got the distinct impression that you felt guilty about something and I cannot figure out why _you_ would be the one who feels guilty. So, what happened?"

She holds her breath the minute she asks the question and waits for a blow up. She waits for him to get up and storm out and never speak to her again. But he doesn't. He just sits quietly across from her with a tormented expression.

He shakes his head and reaches for his whiskey for only the second time since they started talking. "Nothing happened. I just...never really knew her. She says I put her on a pedestal. I expected too much from her and that I couldn't handle it when she fell short. That I forced her hand because she couldn't come to me about what she really felt. Like I was some controlling jackass. Like I was holding her back from living her life. For the longest time that's what I convinced myself I was. That I didn't deserve her or anyone because I would...well, I would ruin them like I ruined her."

Lucy quirks a skeptical brow at him. She can never imagine Wyatt Logan as a controlling judgmental asshole. No matter what Jessica says. He always encourages her. Granted, sometimes he does that by challenging her, but the way he challenges her means she walks away from him stronger and better. _Maybe_ Wyatt wasn't the problem. Maybe he grew and changed while Jessica remained static...on purpose. Maybe Jessica didn't want to be stronger or better.

Maybe she just wanted out and knew the quickest way to get there was to make Wyatt Logan feel like her unhappiness was _his fault_. God, what a manipulative bit—

"She's not a horrible person, Lucy. I can see your anger in the set of your jaw," he tells her with a dry chuckle.

"I will form my own opinions, thank you," Lucy says sternly. "You don't actually believe all of that, do you? That _bullshit_ about you controlling her and holding her back?"

"I don't know. Looking back, she may have a point. I was also a jealous bastard. We fought a lot, and I made it to worse because I didn't want to play America's Sweethearts with her to the press. She wanted to be seen at all these parties and opening nights and those events aren't really my scene. I only go if it's required to promote a film. So, I'm not blind or an idiot. We had issues. I just didn't know she blamed _me_ for so many of them." He takes a sip of his whiskey and avoids her eyes.

She reaches across, as he had earlier, and gently pats the hand he left on the table. "You didn't actually answer my question," she tells him softly. "Do you believe her?"

"I used to," he admits in a low tone. "I used to hate myself. I thought I was on my way to becoming my—it doesn't matter. I spent a lot of time drunk and angry with myself."

"Oh, Wyatt," Lucy says in a voice so sympathetic it surprises even her. She lays her hand on top of his and then laces their fingers together. "You have seen their photos in the press, haven't you? Jessica isn't _ruined_. She and Noah are out there having the time of their lives together. Traveling every weekend and partying most weeknights. That's all they've done. Even before Noah and I officially ended things that's what they were doing. Maybe you and Jessica weren't right for each other, and yes, it sounds like you had some differences. But that doesn't mean it was _your_ fault. It doesn't mean that you can't find someone else to love who might understand you better. And, furthermore—"

He chuckles as he interrupts her. "Should I settle in for a lecture? Do I need another whiskey?"

His face is full of fondness, and she smiles bashfully back at him. She takes his snark as a good sign and grins back at him.

She looks away and down at the table as she starts to speak again, " _Furthermore_ , the person I've seen these last several weeks is a good and caring man. Yes, you're impulsive and hot-headed but you're kind and caring and considerate. And even when we argue, a part of me knows that I'm better for it. You make me think about my actions when you disagree with me, and I need that. So, I cannot imagine believing a single thing Jessica made you think about yourself, because from my point of view you're a truly _good_ man. You're frustrating as hell and sometimes you piss me off," Lucy admits as she points small smile at their joined hands. "But you're still _good_."

When she looks up at him again, she sees his eyes watering as they focus on her. His gaze is so intent that she starts to forget where they are or anyone else who might be nearby. The world shrinks to just the two of them and the booth. They sit there in companionable silence, staring at each other for several minutes before he finally drags his eyes away from hers.

"We should go. It's late," he says as he pulls out his wallet with his free hand. His other hand is still tightly tangled with hers as if he can't bear to sever their connection completely. He throws cash down on the table and she notices it's more than enough for her wine too, and a beyond generous tip. His hand stays in hers as he gets up from the booth.

He tugs her hand and smiles warmly at her as he nods toward the door. "I'll walk you home, ma'am."

She blushes and giggles—yes, actually giggles—but obliges him. He just offered to walk her home like they were teenagers on their way home from school. It's awkward and sweet and she's beginning to wonder why she's bothering to fight her feelings for him. What would be so bad about giving in? It's these thoughts that have her keeping her hand in his as they walk through the hotel lobby and wait for the elevator.

It's these thoughts that keep her from stopping him when he brings his free hand up to caress her cheek and push her hair out of her face.

It's these thoughts that allow him to kiss her as soon as the elevator doors close behind them, and these thoughts that have her responding eagerly.

And— _oh God—_ the man can kiss.

She's being pulled against him with one of his arms wrapped around her waist while his other hand moves a lazy caress up her arm until it comes to rest on her cheek. That, by itself, would be enough to make her melt, but all of this happening while his lips are pressed against hers is almost _too much_. Her heart is beating fast and hard, and she can't stop the moan that escapes her when he runs his tongue across her bottom lip.

What choice does she have but let her mouth fall open in response? And then when the kiss deepens, and he makes her feel like the floor has dropped out from underneath them, how can she stop herself from wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself tighter against him? She can't. The answer is... _she can't_.

He's still kissing her when the elevator doors open, slowly and deeply like he has all the time in the world. He places one hand over where the elevator doors have opened to prevent them from shutting again and maneuvers them both into the hallway without once breaking their connection. She's glad he has the presence of mind to think of such things, like being crushed by elevator doors, because her brain has lost all ability to function. All she knows is _him._

The feel of his hard muscles against her. The spicy smell of him surrounding her. The sound of their lips nibbling and sucking and colliding. The taste of him.

Jesus, the taste of him.

It's wine and whiskey mingled together. It's her and him, and dammit if it isn't the most addictive flavor to ever touch her tongue. That must explain why she's pulling her room key card out of her pocket and not even questioning it. Must be why she's pushing _him_ against the door to her room so she can slide the card in and out to open the door. All the while, she's kissing him like he's the fresh air her lungs never knew they needed. Like he's essential.

The door beeps and the lock clicks. He reaches for the handle before she can and opens the door, pulling them both inside the room. He has her pressed against the wall as soon as the door starts to close behind them and she's positive all practical parts of her brain have been overrun by _need._ By _want_. _By him._

Because she should be shoving him away and running for the hills. She told herself no more actors. She doesn't want to fall for Wyatt Logan. She's just asking for heartbreak, because there is no way that he can love her. She's Lucy Preston, novelist and nerd, and he's Wyatt Logan, actor and celebrity. She spends her days behind the camera and he spends his in front of it. For her career, she attends sci-fi conventions and, for his, he attends movie premieres. They are different people. _Fundamentally_ different. It would never work.

But then his hand hooks under her knee and hitches her leg around his waist and she can feel his hardness pressed against the warmth between her legs and she thinks…

Who _goddamn_ cares how different they are when this feels so deliciously right?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** PS - I forgot to say that this is for TFP! You'll find the prompt in this half of the story!

and for those of you averse to smut, this is the steamy half of the story. ;)

Happy reading! xoxo

* * *

 _(2/2)_

 _You should take it as a compliment_

 _That I'm talking to everyone here but you_

 _And you should think about the consequence_

 _Of you touching my hand in the darkened room_

 _If you've got a girlfriend, I'm jealous of her_

 _But if you're single that's honestly worse_

 _'Cause you're so gorgeous it actually hurts_

 _(Honey, it hurts)_

 _Ocean blue eyes looking in mine_

 _I feel like I might sink and drown and die_

 _\- "Gorgeous", Taylor Swift_

* * *

Something in her must have known this was coming, woman's intuition or something, because she wore a blouse and skirt combination today and she _never_ wears skirts or dresses to work. She's thankful for the change in pattern though when Wyatt pushes her skirt up around her waist and his fingers start to toy with waistband of her boring white cotton underwear. If they keep doing this she may have to buy more skirts purely for the convenience of speedy access alone.

He releases her lips when breathing becomes difficult. Their lips were sealed together so tightly that a smacking sound echoes through her room as he pulls back. If she wasn't breathing so heavily she would pull him right back in. Her need for oxygen be damned.

But she can't stop. She can't stop moving, touching him, kissing him. If she stops she'll start thinking again and if she starts thinking again she'll send him back to his room and away from her.

Because Wyatt Logan scares the shit out of her. He makes her feel too much and makes her hope for things she had resigned herself to never having. He could break her heart all over again if she let him, and in his hands the pieces left behind would be smaller and less manageable than ever before. The fear starts creeping back in and she has to do _something_ to forget it. She has to act.

She reaches for the bottom hem of his shirt. Shedding clothes. Shedding clothes will keep her focused on him and on the present. They take turns removing clothes, almost like a game. His shirt, her blouse, his pants, her skirt.

And then she's standing in front of him in nothing more than her unexciting mismatched cotton underwear and trying her hardest not to think about the last time she had a wax because _hot damn_ if Wyatt Logan doesn't look like some sort of god among mortals. He's all hard muscles, dimples, and stubble as he stands there in his boxers and she thinks she must pale in comparison to his superhuman glory. But then she meets his eyes and there's a hunger that might surpass her own growing brighter and brighter with each moment. So maybe…

Maybe she's _enough_. Maybe he actually does find her as attractive as she finds him.

He must see the nerves and doubt on her face because in the next moment his forehead is pressed against hers and his hands are on her hips, pulling her against him.

"You are absolutely beautiful. I'm not sure how you don't know that," he says with a warm grin. He gives her no time to respond before he's devouring her again.

He kisses her like he's going to swallow her whole. She has never been kissed like this in her entire life. She's never been kissed as if she's the only person someone could ever want _until now._ Until Wyatt Logan. He walks them backwards toward the bed and then slowly pushes her back onto it until they're stretched out across the mattress with half of his weight against her.

He pauses for a moment and gives her a questioning glance. She sees his lips part and she knows the next question on his lips we'll be if she really wants this, _wants him_. She can't let him ask. She can't give herself the opportunity to think.

Her hand slips below the elastic band on his boxer and wraps around him. Any question he was planning to ask is gone and replaced with a low, throaty moan. He buries his face in the curve of her neck as the rest of his muscles clench. She sweeps her thumb over the tip of him just to see how he'll react, and the result is better than she ever could have dreamed.

" _Fuck, Luce,"_ he says in a gravelly strained voice against the skin on her neck.

He nips at her throat gently as his hot breath seems to warm her entire body and wraps a hand around her wrist that is inside of his boxers. He pulls her hand away from him and pins it above her head.

"You're gonna finish this before it ever starts if you're not careful, ma'am," Wyatt tells her before he releases her wrist. "I plan to take my time with you."

He flashes her a lopsided smile that is nothing short of sinful and then his mouth his hot against her neck. Nipping. Sucking. Licking. She feels the gentlest bite of his teeth at one point and arches against him with almost embarrassing eagerness. God, she has a weakness for neck kisses, and he seems to have already figured that out. His mouth finds her pulse point and he focuses completely on that spot after she lets out a wanton whimper. It's a sound she has never made before in her life. But the weight of him on top of her and the way his mouth just seems to immediately know her is so delicious that she gives herself over to it completely.

She likes control. Always has. But if just the beginnings of friction between them feels this amazing, then he can have it. He can have her for whatever he wants. He just needs to tell her what to do. She'll do it if it means he keeps doing exactly what he's already doing.

While his lips focus on her neck, his hands trail down her ribs. His hands move slowly like they're trying to count each one beneath her skin. She feels one hand ghost over her stomach and then finally stop on the inside of her thigh. His other hand travels back upward from her ribs to her shoulder and then to hold the back of her neck. He uses his hold on her to roll them until she is lying entirely on top of him, and then with one hand he reaches behind her and unfastens the clasp on her bra.

She feels the straps go slack and then pulls back to look at him in surprise.

"What the hell?" she asks with an amused grin. "Did you just open the clasp with one hand? I can't even do that!"

He laughs loudly as he rolls them back over to their previous position and winks at her. "Guess I'll have to teach you, Professor."

She's heard that full laugh one time before and it's just as beautiful as she remembers it. But then she's also remembering the last time she heard it and all their fighting...and the multiple times she's tried to write his death into the film.

She feels the edges of fear closing in on her and threatening to halt everything, but instead of running away, she dives right in. She throws her arms around his neck and pulls him back in for another searing kiss. The straps of her bra are still hanging loose around her shoulders, and she releases him one arm at time so he can help her slide the straps down and pull the garment out from between them.

He tosses it over his shoulder and she's not sure where it lands. It's the last thing on her mind just seconds later though when his mouth is kissing a trail between her breasts. _Oh God_. If she's going to start wearing more skirts maybe she should think about no longer wearing bras, too. Ease of access should be her number one priority from now on.

In college and her adult life she was always the one of her friends to insist that good sex came from emotional intimacy and that "chemistry" was bullshit. Yes, she wrote about chemistry in her books, but that was _fiction_. In real life your connection was formed by getting to know each other better than anyone else. She thought she had that with Noah. She knew the name of his favorite childhood pet, she'd been to the house where he grew up and met his high school friends, she knew the stories behind every scar on his body. She _thought_ they had pretty satisfying sex. She _thought_ they had chemistry.

She thought wrong.

Wyatt Logan is making her question everything she thinks she knows about love and relationships, which wasn't much to begin with, and something about that fact pisses her off. She has been living her whole life ignorant to real chemistry. _Passion_. She didn't know any better. Ignorance really was bliss.

But now she is going to have this to look back on and these feelings of burning frenzied _need_. No other relationship is ever going to be the same again because she will always be comparing it to _this._ To _him._

His tongue barely traces over one of her nipples and she's arching and moaning. She would find it embarrassing if she wasn't in the throes of a type of perfect bliss that completely new for her. There's so much skin against skin and yet his boxers keep the part of him she's craving most hidden from her. She runs her hands down the well toned muscles of his shoulders and back before she reaches the waistband of his boxers and tugs them downward. He's returned to the valley between her breasts as he's on his way to her other breast and she _feels_ him smirk against her. She can picture the one dimple and the flames in his darkened gaze and it only makes her want to work faster.

His kisses drift lower and his body moves with them, pulling the waistband out of her reach. She hears herself whine and mentally chastises herself for being so blatantly obvious. She's never been one to whine or beg and she's never been truly impatient, but then…

She's never had Wyatt Logan, has she?

She hears and feels the rumble of a laugh against her stomach. She reaches a hand down and runs her fingers through his hair and then tugs playfully at his ears.

"You did that on purpose," she says in a low breathy voice that _cannot_ be her own.

Yet it is. Good God, what is he doing to her?

"I told you, _Luce,_ " he says in a husky voice that's muffled against the the inside of her thigh. "I'm taking my time. No matter how much _you_ may want to rush, ma'am."

The nickname is new. That is the second time he's ever uttered it and both times he's said _against_ her skin. If he keeps that up he may have her trained to want _him_ against her skin every time he says it.

"We have all night," he says before he presses a featherlight kiss to the opposite thigh.

"Tell me you are not going to make me wait _that_ long," Lucy says with a chuckle.

"Trust me, I couldn't wait that long even if I wanted to," Wyatt answers as he looks up at her from where he's lying between her thighs. "But I'm not wasting any opportunities and I'm not rushing this."

He smiles slowly and holds her gaze as he slides one finger from each hand under the waistband of her underwear. He pauses and purposefully withholds tugging them down her hips. She lifts her hips and sucks in a breath and wills herself not to grab his hands with her own and force him into action. It isn't until her breathing is even and heartbeat has calmed that he _finally_ tugs. He pulls them down her hips and over her thighs and legs as slowly as he can, taking his time to caress her legs as he went. He tosses them off the bed carelessly and then resumes kissing her inner thigh.

"This is so unfair," she says breathlessly as his lips inch closer and closer to the small bundle of nerves between her legs.

"Who said life is fair?" he asks, cocksure smile evident in his voice, before his lips are on her overheated center.

She gasps and writhes underneath him. Her hands find his hair and she's gripping him so tight that she's afraid her nails might leave broken skin on his scalp. He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, it seems to encourage him. His hands grasp her hips and hold tight to keep her from bucking underneath him. Her toes are curling. She can feel her muscles straining and feels the coil tightening deep inside of her. Pressure building to an impending explosion.

And he wasn't even inside of her yet.

His name falls off her lips over and over, mingled with gasps and sighs and moans, until the coil springs. The pressure releases and she cries out with a sound that is the mix of a sob and a whine before she relaxes against the mattress.

His hands caress up her body as he pulls himself up to face her again. The minute his bare chest is against hers, she remembers he's still wearing his boxers. She glares at him and for once there is no true anger behind it.

"Off," she says as she tugs at the elastic.

His eyebrows raise and he grins. "Yes, ma'am."

If he's going to call her ma'am in bed then it's going to be a lot harder for her to hate it.

As soon as his boxers join her underwear and bra on the floor, her arms go around him and her hands land on his ass to pull him to her. He's made her wait long enough. She gave him control and he took too long. Now she's taking it back. She's pulling him back onto the mattress with her and as his lips meet hers again, she reaches between them guides him inside her. She pulls away from the kiss for a briefly for a sharp intake of breath. He stays still inside of her for a long moment and she knows why. He doesn't have to say it.

It's obvious to both of them.

And once again, Wyatt Logan scares the shit out of her.

Because they fit. They fit so _goddamn_ perfectly. He doesn't just fill her, he fits _against her_. He's her missing puzzle piece finally sliding into place and they _both_ know it. Never has anyone ever molded to her like him.

She's a minute away from panicking at the sheer size of that knowledge because it's too big, too much, too frightening. But then he places a soft and slow kiss on her lips and she's too caught up in him and now to let the panic go much further. Her lips part and then their tongues are mingling and tasting and exploring while his hands are tenderly caressing her face, neck, and kisses are awestruck and reverent like some sort of grateful prayer, and she's not sure why but tears start streaming down her face.

She's not sad or hurt or angry. She doesn't even feel particularly joyful.

But he's kissing her as if she's some sort of miracle while he fills her _completely_ and the tears just _come_. His thumbs absently trace over the trails of tears on her cheeks and wipe them away. His eyes are bright and she thinks they might be watering. She doesn't have much time to examine him though because he chooses that moment to move. It is barely anything, she knows. He shifted to make their positions more comfortable but she feels it just the same.

The thrill that runs up her spine with one tiny flinch has to be impossible. She feels herself barely clench around him and hears Wyatt hiss in surprise.

"Jesus, _Luce_ ," he says with a deep calming breath. "This isn't going to be as slow as I wanted it to be."

"Good," she tells him with a ragged breath. "I'm done with slow."

She wraps her legs around his waist and then lifts her hips off the mattress in the hopes of urging him on. It works. He releases a growling groan and thrusts. His hands travel to her shoulders and pull her closer against him so with each thrust he his movements reach deeper and deeper. She's moaning and gasping as her heart beats erratically, and every muscle in her body tenses and her joints curl. Her hands roam up and down his back, nails pressing into his flesh, as everything builds.

They're coming together too effortlessly, like this was always going to happen, and the pleasure filling her with every movement, every kiss, and every touch _finally_ drowns out her fear and doubt and paranoia. All she can feel or hear is _him_. As if his universe shrinks at the exact same moment as hers, his movements slow down. The need is still there but it's not frantic or possessive. The minute the voices are drowned out, a switch is somehow flipped and she turns tender. His eyes meet hers, cobalt linking with cinnamon, and her hands trail up from his back to his shoulders to the back of his head. She's caressing them through his hair. She brushes the hair off of his forehead and down further across his cheek and then his chin. The stubble under the pads of her fingers is coarse but the friction of it feels _intimate_. Just as intimate as the way their bodies were currently connected.

And then his lips on hers again, tongue hot against hers, and the frenzied passion returns. Harder. Deeper. Faster. Every noise from them seems to echo in her room and her heart. She moans against his lips before pulling back and arching against him.

She is so close. So close to falling over the treacherous edge in front of her. An edge higher than anyone had ever taken her too before. It's dangerous. It's exhilarating. And she is _so close_.

He dips his head to her neck and gently nips at her pulse point. She whimpers and feels herself clench around him. Still not quite there, but with every flick of his tongue and scrape of his teeth against her rapid pulse he pushes her closer.

Just one more push and there will be nothing but a blissful fall into the unknown. _He pushes_.

One more hard stroke is all it takes and she is lost. Lost in the heights of this pleasure that only _he_ has ever taken her to. She has a feeling that no one else will ever take her there again. Not this high, this fast. When the fall is over and she lands, it's back onto the luxurious hotel mattress and into the tangled crisp white linens emotionally and physically spent. A moment later and Wyatt joins her. His weight collapses against her and they lay just like that for a moment. Both panting.

"Oh god, Wyatt," Lucy says as the realization of what they've just done hits her. She wants to regret it. She wants to dismiss it as a mistake and send him back to his room. _But she can't_. The words won't leave her throat and won't stick in her heart. "What _was_ that?"

He laughs against her throat and she feels it rumble through her from his stomach down to where they were still joined.

"Damned if I know," he says as he's still trying to catch his breath. "Whatever it was, we're doing it again."

Her lids feel heavy as she blinks at him. She's not tired, she tells herself. She doesn't need sleep. She needs more of him before the fear comes back and she actually does send him away. But when she goes to tell him this all that escapes her is a yawn. He smiles fondly at her before untangling them and lying back on the bed next to her.

"After a few hours of sleep, that is," he says as he pulls the covers up and around them.

She nods and lets her eyes flutter closed. She assumes that this is how they'll sleep. Him on one side, her on the other. Wyatt obviously disagrees because once all the lights are out he reaches for her and pulls her to him. His arms go around her as his chest presses against her back, and just like before she _wants_ to distance herself but she _can't_. His arms seem to bring a sense of comfort she never feels in any hotel room. Hotel rooms are not a home. Never have been, no matter how many of them she stays in.

But here in this hotel room, in this bed that's exactly like every other bed in the building, she feels at home. In her sleepy state, her mind suspects that home may not be a place at all. As her eyes close and sleep claims her, she thinks that home might be _him_.

She wakes up later, the room is still dark with no light filtering through the spaces in the blinds, and Wyatt's arms are still securely wrapped around her. Her last thought before falling asleep returns and panic builds in her chest. _No, no, no, no,_ _ **no**_ **.**

Her heart won't survive another break like Noah, like her mother. If her heart breaks again she'll be lost. Despondent. Unreachable. She told herself no actors but what she really meant was _no risks_. No unnecessary dangers. No chance of someone undoing the bandages she painstakingly wrapped around her heart. She told herself no Wyatt Logan. He is a risk, an unnecessary danger, he could unwrap her heart and claim total ownership. He is not home. He is not comfort. He is not safety.

He has the potential to rip her to shreds if he decides to. He can hurt her worse than Noah ever did. She's almost willing to let him. Her mind is imagining how they would make it work, wondering if she can deal deal with him leaving for months at a time for a new project, contemplating trusting him. She's allowing herself a weak moment to consider it.

This weak moment has her turning in his arms and seeking him out. She wants him to banish the fear again. To distract her with passion and love and need until nothing exists but her and him and her heart _almost_ feels whole. She needs him to wake up so she can shove down her panic and paranoia. She can't stop to think. Can't stop to face the world behind her hotel room door. Can't lie here with him unless she's asleep and her mind is quiet.

 _Or_ unless she's otherwise engaged.

She runs her hands over his arms, his neck, and then through his hair softly.

His eyes open, sleepy but still present in the moment with her. A lazy smirk spreads across his face and he quirks a brow at her. "Need something, _Luce_?"

His voice is deep and groggy as he says the new nickname. She feels goosebumps over her arms and knows he's succeeding in establishing that Pavlovian response she was worried about. He's found a button to press that _makes_ her want him and it's a damn nickname. It's proof of the power he has over her. The power that causes those treacherous heights they reached a few hours ago. The heights she needs to go back to in order to drown out the voice in the back of her head that tells her the two of them will never work. The one that tells her she's normal and boring and only as good as her talent. He'll use her and leave her to live with her obliterated heart while he enjoys himself with someone much more enticing than _her_. The voice that tells her she's not _enough_ for him.

She needed it to _shut up_.

"You ready for round two yet, Soldier?"

His hand moves across the inside of her thigh, underneath the sheets, and she sighs as he slides one finger inside of her.

"Oh, I am," he says as he leans his face closer to hers. He winks and curls a finger inside of her. She sucks in a breath and tilts her head back reflexively. He chuckles and she feels him place a quick kiss on her neck. "Feels like you are too."

She almost hoped the first time was a fluke. Heightened emotions and tension. Nothing more. But as the second time progresses she knows that's not true. It isn't any of that. _It's him_. But he succeeds in distracting her and drowning out the voice. He succeeds in taking her up to the top of that same cliff and the fall feels just as wonderful as she remembers. _Damn him_.

Sleep catches them again and the next time she wakes, light is barely peeking through the blinds, and this time he's reaching for her. Kissing her senseless and settling her on top of him. She mumbles about him being insatiable but eagerly complies. Because he's already an addiction. She can't get enough. Will never get enough. Not after three times or even for the rest of her life. She _knows_ this and she _hates_ it. Or she thinks she does. The line between hate and love seems fairly thin to her at this moment.

The voice is returning but it's barely a whisper, and nowhere near loud enough to keep her from _him_.

She collapses against him with a sound of ecstasy that she can't even describe. It's a combination of all the sounds she's made throughout the night and, though she's a writer, she can't find a single suitable descriptor for it. His hands find her back and rub soothingly as he pulls her lips to his for several languid kisses. They're soft and affectionate and nothing like what she would have expecting from him just a few weeks ago. Under all that smug charm is a man who is much more romantic than he wants to admit and a man who cares more deeply than _she_ wants to admit.

She's simultaneously wanting to escape him and keep him with her forever. Nothing she feels makes sense and for someone as logical and composed as she normally is she cannot understand it. She cannot control it. Cannot rationalize it. For Lucy, the loss of those things is like the loss of solid ground. It's frightening to her core.

And it's the first thing she feels when her phone wakes her up with a shrill ring the following morning. Wyatt is still coiled around her, face buried in the back of her neck as he dozes, and all the while fear seizes Lucy tightly.

She needs out, needs away, needs to think or forget. Either will work. But in the light of the morning, with reality ringing from her nightstand, she can't turn to him for that. Not this time. She reaches for her phone and glaces at the screen. Her eyes widen and she curses.

 _Shit_. Is that today's date?

Oh god, she is an idiot.

She suddenly doesn't care if she wakes Wyatt. He has to go. Not only does she need to start getting ready, but Wyatt is supposed to be at the sound stage in an hour. Regardless of today's date and all the ways she is a complete moron, there's still a shooting schedule to follow. She untangles herself with very little grace, her foot tangles in the loose sheet and she falls to the floor with a loud crash.

" _Shit_ ," she curses. She growls in frustration as she pulls her foot out of the sheet and then begins digging through her suitcase. Slamming and throwing things in her haste. The anger at herself grows with every minute.

How is she this stupid? This weak? How did she let herself succumb to his charm so easily? She knows better. She knows they're too different. She knows they don't make sense. He's a risk and she doesn't _do_ risk. Not with her heart. Not anymore. She hears the bed creak just barely and then a moment later she feels his arms snake around her from behind. She contemplates sinking into it for a moment as he presses his lips to her neck, but then her phone rings again and acts as a well timed reminder of _who_ she is and who _he isn't_.

She pushes his arms away and shakes her head.

"Stop, Wyatt. _Stop_."

Her tone is clipped as he backs up several steps.

She doesn't look at him as she puts together an acceptable outfit and she doesn't need to. The confusion is evident in his voice.

"What's wrong?"

She lets out a bitter laugh because she honestly doesn't know how to answer that. There's one thought reverberating in her head though so that's what how she replies.

"This shouldn't have happened."

He recoils to the other side of the room, as if she has slapped him with great force.

"I'm sorry," he says in a voice that cracks with a tremor of _something_. She can't find a label for it. "Say that again?"

She walks away from him, toward the bathroom, with her clothes in her hand. She picks up his boxers from the floor and throws them at his chest. He catches them easily.

"This should not have happened, Wyatt. It was a mistake."

"Didn't _feel_ like a mistake to me," he says through gritted teeth. "You didn't seem to feel that way either a few hours ago. So, I'm gonna ask again, _what happened_?"

She grabs a towel from the linen closet and wraps it around herself before she dares to face him again. She manages to meet his eyes for a brief moment before looking away again. He didn't look angry. He looked hurt and frustrated. She can't blame him for that. She is too.

"I woke up," she tells him with a shake of her head. "I woke up and remembered that _this,_ " she states as she motions between the two of them, "is not real. We're too different. You and me is just...a fantasy. I can't build a life of a fantasy. I tried that once already."

"Bullshit," he says with a dry laugh and a scoff. His voice is firm and loud. "I'm calling bullshit, Professor. That's not what's happening here. We both know exactly what this is."

"Oh yeah?" she asks with a challenging glare. "If you know me so well then _what is it_?"

"You're running scared," he answers with a shake of his head as his voice raises. He mimics her gesture and motions between them. " _This_ is good. It's good for you and it's good for me and that _terrifies you_. Admit it. Admit you're afraid."

Her jaw tenses and her hands curl into fists. He _is_ right. She hates that and she won't admit it. Her fear is valid. Fear makes sense because fear keeps you from making the same mistake twice, which is _clearly_ what he would be.

"Do you really think it's that impossible for a woman to _not_ want you?" she asks with a roll of her eyes. "I mean, I've always thought you were smug but _really_ , Logan—"

"And now you're picking a fight," he says as he collects his clothes from the floor. "Should have seen that coming. I don't think it's impossible for a woman to not want me. Jessica couldn't get away from me fast enough. I think it's impossible that _you_ don't want me. I was there, _every time_ , Lucy. I felt everything you did. I have no delusions about last night. I know exactly what that was and what it meant. _Do you_?"

"It never occured to you that maybe it meant more to you than it did to me?" she asks with a glare.

He laughs, a full real laugh, and then shakes his head. "No. I'm not being a cocky asshole when I say that. I promise you. I've never been touched the way you touched me last night. It was _exceptional_. Something that exceptional doesn't happen unless the connection is deep and _mutual_. Shit, Lucy, you and me...I've never felt anything like that. Not even with Jessica and I was _married_ to her."

Her fear inflates and rises in her chest and she's almost certain a panic attack is imminent. Is he saying that last night meant more than anything he ever had with his ex-wife? He can't be saying that. Can he?

"It's fucking scary," Wyatt tells her. "I get it. I feel it. I'm afraid, too. You don't have to run from it. You don't have to run from me. The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you."

His voice is soft and sincere and warm. She can feel him pulling the confession from her lips. It's right there. But she knows the minute she admits it out loud then it's all over. Her control will be gone, evaporated into nothing. She's not ready to let that go. _She needs it_. She clung to it when Noah left, it saved her life. If she gives it up now then she risks drowning. Drowning sounds like a horrible way to go. She won't do it.

"Wyatt, it's not happening. I can't do this. I'm not afraid. I'm not picking a fight. I just don't want it to go any further." He opens his mouth to protest but she steamrolls over him. " _Please leave_."

"That's it?" he asks with a furrowed brow and a disbelieving glare. "You just decide it's over before it even starts? We're not going to talk about it at all?"

"We just did," she snaps. "You have to be on set in an hour. We tried it, it didn't work, and now the show goes on."

"We tried it?" he asks in a yell. "Like hell we did. You don't know if it would work, Professor, so you can't say it didn't. What we did and felt in that bed," he says in a quiet seething tone as he points to her unmade hotel bed. "It _worked_ pretty damn well. We could be great but you're determined to bail out and you won't tell me why. You're just throwing it away. Like one of those discarded death scenes you keep writing. You've done how many rewrites of the ending so far?"

Her mouth drops open and she gawks at him. She knew he found the one but how did he know about the others?

"Yeah, Denise let that little fact slip the other day. She looked regretful right after she said but I caught it. You've written seven versions of the death scene for Will Lancaster. So, how about you consider this your eighth," he sneers. "Because it sure as hell hurts like one."

He shakes his head and mutters angrily to himself as he hastily puts on his pants and storms out of the room. He slams the door behind him and she's sure the entire floor heard him. She feels tears stinging her eyes and forces down the bile in her throat. Her mouth tastes like regret. But it's not regret from the night before, no it's regret from the morning after.

She gets out her laptop and writes through her tears. She writes until they've dried on her face. She writes of Leslie taking a shot and missing her intended target. She writes of Leslie with a gun in her hands as she realizes her bullet hit the wrong person, the one person that Leslie is almost certain she can't lose. She writes a tearful goodbye and the end of hope and possibilities that leave Leslie a cold shell of herself. Guilt, remorse, _mistakes_. All ending with Will bloody, broken, and lifeless in Leslie's arms dead by her own hand.

Her phone rings again and this time she answers it. She's not sure how much time has passed since the door slammed closed, on her hotel room and probably her heart, but the time on her phone says it's a quarter 'til noon.

He's right on time, as always.

"Jonas," she says with forced brightness.

"Hey, babe," he says. "Did you sleep in?"

"Yeah," she lies. "I've been writing for two days straight so Denise said I could be late to set today. Are you here?"

"Car just left the airport. Listen, why don't I just meet you at the soundstage? I'm dying to see the sets and meet the cast. Not to mention, I'm ready to see you. I've missed you. I can check in to my room later. It'll still be there."

"Oh, um, sure, yeah," she says as she quickly emails Denise the new pages and stashes her laptop. She tries not to think about the fact that she didn't tell him she missed him, too. That's not a place in her heart she needs to explore right now. "I still have to get ready so you may actually get there before me."

"I'm sure I can find something to keep me busy while I wait," he tells her with a chuckle.

"Right, of course," she replies with a small laugh. "Okay, then, I'll see you there."

"Great, I'll see you soon then."

"See you soon," she says as she hangs up.

And she's back to where she was when her phone first rang that morning.

God, she is an _idiot_. She got caught up in Wyatt and forgot all about _real life_. The life waiting for her once filming ended. Jonas, her third novel, her mother's resentment. _Reality_. She was letting her mind and her heart get tangled up in the magic of movies and the romance of a manufactured love story. Romance is a great concept, but the reality of it is overrated.

At least that's what she is going to keep telling herself.

She doesn't need it. She doesn't _need him_.

Maybe if she repeats it enough she'll stop feeling like Wyatt took what was left of her heart with him when he stormed out of her room that morning. It's worth a shot, anyway. She grabs her clothes and heads for the shower. She can't keep Jonas waiting. He's had this visit planned since before she left.

She just forgot it in the face of Wyatt Logan's infuriating smirk.

She arrives at the sounds stage an hour later and panics the minute the set comes into view. Jonas is there, chatting enthusiastically, with Mason and…

 _And Wyatt._

She rushes toward them gripped with an irrational fear that Wyatt will do something reckless and impulsive. It's not unheard of him for him to act before he thinks. As she approaches, Mason spots her and gestures to her with his hand.

"Ah, there she is," Mason says with a smile. "Our Writer-In-Residence. We were just talking about you."

"Y-you were?" She asks apprehensively.

"Yes, Jonas was telling us he's your editor."

"Hey, babe," Jonas says as he pulls her into his side and presses a chaste kiss to her lips.

Wyatt's brows raise in recognition and then furrow as his expression darkens.

"And clearly, more than that, too," he quips as his disappointed gaze focuses on Lucy. His tone is polite but his face holds thinly veiled anger.

Jonas doesn't seem to notice. He kisses her temple and then smiles proudly at Wyatt and Mason. "Only a little," Jonas says with a teasing chuckle.

Lucy forces a light laugh and a smile she knows doesn't reach her eyes. She knew this would be awkward but why does it _hurt_? It physically hurts. She has a pain in the center of her chest and it is pulsing and spreading through her ribs.

"Well, Jonas, welcome to set," Wyatt says as he clear his throat awkwardly. "I'm sure Lucy will be more than happy to show you around. I, on the other hand, have a stunt rehearsal to get to."

His eyes don't meet hers again. It's as if she's not there or he doesn't know her. Honestly, after this morning what did she expect? Isn't this what she wanted? Isn't it _better_? Yes, it is. It has to be. Jonas is the safe bet. Jonas is security and certainty. He is her smartest choice. And Lucy Preston prides herself on being _smart_. Her intelligence is what gets her where she needs to go. Her own mind and determination has served her well her entire life. The one time she let her heart lead, it failed her. Now more than ever, she needs her intelligence to be her shield.

"Lucy?"

She snaps herself out of her thoughts and turns to face Connor Mason. "Sorry, what was that? I missed it."

"We were supposed to be on location tomorrow," Connor says slowly, as if speaking to a child. "But the location fell through this morning. We're going to have to shoot it on the Hangar set. Would you mind terribly if I asked you to rewrite it?"

In one night? Yeah, sure, she can whip up magic in, what, nineteen hours? She'll just have to stay up all damn night. Seriously? It's not like she got much sleep the night before. She was up most of the night with Wy—

She stops her train of thought, not willing to go back there just yet. "Yeah, sure, no problem."

Jonas looked disappointed though. "I guess I'll have to cancel those dinner plans I made."

She gives him a genuinely apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Jonas. Tomorrow night, okay? I promise."

He gives her a small smile and nods. "Alright, I'll take it."

Her relief at not having to go to dinner with Jonas is wrong, isn't it? She should feel guilty about that, right? It's just that everything with him feels different now. Before this movie she felt adequately happy with Jonas. They were progressing at a slow and steady space. He never expects too much from her. He never has to leave town for months on end. He's stable, successful, and not at all involved in the movie business.

He's perfectly _fine_.

Which was okay before Wyatt Logan came into her life. Now suddenly perfectly _fine_ felt perfectly _boring_.

* * *

She did it. And she did it with five hours to spare. It is a miracle. By now the script supervisor has printed and distributed the new pages and Lucy has gotten a fair amount of sleep. It is enough that she doesn't need the extreme sleep deprivation remedy of a 4 cream and 4 sugars cup of coffee. She can get ready for the day, go downstairs (hopefully before Wyatt), and get a good strong cup of Earl Grey from the cafe in the lobby. That is exactly what she needs.

She dresses in a hurry and just as she's finishing there is a knock on her door. One glance through the peephole tells her it's Jonas and she grabs her shoulder bag before answering the door. He's holding two paper to-go cups, which she somehow didn't notice before, and is holding one of them out to her.

"Thought you could use a cup of liquid reinforcements," Jonas says.

She nods and whispers a quick thank you as she takes the cup, a huge sip, and then…

Immediately wants to spit it out. What the hell did she just drink? This isn't tea, this isn't even coffee the way she likes it. She doesn't know what this is in this cup. But it is bitter and awful. And of course, Wyatt Logan would walk by her open door just as she's grimacing and faking a smile.

Wyatt's eyes find the to-go cup and then they find hers. She feels red hot fury at the knowing smirk that overtakes his face. He knows what's happened without her having to say it. _How?_ Oh, he makes her so angry.

Jonas walks with her toward the elevator and she's praying that Wyatt has already caught one without them but, of course, she's not that lucky. They three of them step into the small space and Lucy tries to stand as far away from Wyatt as she can. Wyatt leans against one of the walls and stares at the to-go cup in her hand.

He grins and then turns to Jonas. "That smells like some strong coffee you have there, Jonas."

"Black coffee is the only way to wake up," Jonas replies with a smile and a nod.

"That so?" Wyatt asks. She can tell he's holding back a chuckle. "Is that what you have too, Professor?"

She supposes so, but she doesn't trust any words that might come out of her mouth so she nods. She's been holding the cup of coffee without taking another sip and as soon as she can escape Jonas she knows the cup is going in the trash. So does Wyatt.

Wyatt makes a thoughtful noise and nods. "Funny, I always took you for one of those hot tea types. You know, I thought you would drink Earl Grey with a splash of cream."

 _And two sugars_.

She once admired his steel trap of a memory but right now she hates it. He's making Jonas look like a fool and Jonas doesn't even know it. He's also making her _feel_ like a fool which she assumes is his point. Wyatt hasn't known her as long as Jonas but he _thinks_ he knows her better.

"No," Jonas says with a grin. "First thing in the morning you need strong coffee. Right, Lucy?"

Her eyes shift from Wyatt to Jonas and she nods.

"Right," she replies weakly.

It's a little white lie and it will make Jonas happy. It's not a big deal. But Wyatt gives flashes her his sad puppy dog eyes and shakes his head. She had let him down somehow. She doesn't even really understand what she's done by the idea of letting him down places a weight on her shoulders. Why? She shouldn't care what he thinks. This is her life. She needs to live it in a way that makes sense to her.

"Hey, so, I know you can't leave set for lunch," Jonas tells her. "But I can, and I saw this sushi place not far from the soundstage. I was thinking I could go pick us up some sushi. What do you say?"

Wyatt's quirks a brow at her expectantly. Both he and Jonas are waiting for her answer. She doesn't know why Wyatt seems so interested. He can't know what she thinks he knows. She's never told him.

"Um, yeah, okay—"

"I thought you hated sushi, _Luce_?"

Her sharp intake of air as he says the nickname isn't missed by either man. As she is sure Wyatt intended, images of their night together flood her memory and the reaction her body has is instant. _Pavlovian._

Jonas now gives them both a suspicious glance. "You don't like sushi? But we go to that place near my office all the time."

She's too shocked that Wyatt even _knows_ that to deny it.

"You can't possibly know that I— _how_?" She asks Wyatt with a wary glare.

He laughs lightly and shrugs. "I pay attention. We regularly order from that place and you never join in. I noticed, that's all."

He noticed? He's been watching her that closely? He's been filing away details about her for his own personal knowledge. It's sweet. It's intimate. By admitting it, he steals another piece of her heart. He's been collecting little pieces all along. She sees that now.

She should have done a better job at pushing him away. She should have held firm and never let him in. Why did she let him in? Because now that she has let him in and she is trying to forget…

She can't. And dammit she misses him.

"Why do you let me take you to that place near my office if you don't like sushi?"

Jonas' voice breaks though her thoughts and she turns to him with a sheepish smile. "It's quick for you on your hour lunch and you like it. Besides, I can never get enough miso soup and good hot tea."

Jonas looks as if he's just remembered something. Just noticed it.

He nods and then speaks with a furrowed brow. "You never actually order sushi when we go, do you? I never thought about it before but now...why didn't you just tell me?"

She shrugs and looks down at her feet. "I told you. You like sushi. I thought it would make you happy."

"And Lucy always sacrifices what _she_ wants. Don't you, Professor?" Wyatt asks her as he pins her down with a knowing stare.

"Not always," she replies with a huff and a roll of her eyes.

"Well, from now on," Jonas tells her as he gives Wyatt a wary glance. "We eat at places we both like."

She smiles weakly and nods. "Okay."

"Matter of fact," Jonas says as he moves to stand between Lucy and Wyatt. "Let's have dinner tonight. When you're done with filming. Somewhere nice. We can have a date _and_ talk about your next book. Two birds with one stone."

"Okay," she says with a small genuine smile. "I actually had some thoughts on what to write. I know we talked about that romantic comedy style chick lit story about the mismatched couple on the run from a hitman and while that idea sounds great, I'm just not sure it's me."

"What are you talking about?" he asks with an encouraging smile. "Of course it's you. You'll do great things with that plot. It's equal parts romantic and suspenseful."

"Yeah, I know, and I'm sure it would be an interesting book but I was thinking...I want to write a follow up to _Sign_ ," she tells him as she releases a nervous breath.

Out of the corner of her eye she she's Wyatt smile and knows he's pleased with her. She hates that just knowing that bolsters her confidence. She shouldn't care what he thinks. _She shouldn't._

Jonas sighs tiredly. "Lucy, we've talked about this. Your last sci-fi technology book didn't do well remember? And the company will drop you if your third doesn't sell. You need a guaranteed hit to get back on your feet."

"I know but if the first one was a success, don't you think—"

Jonas' eyes slide over to Wyatt before he smiles warmly at Lucy and places a kiss to her temple. "How about this, if you promise to seriously talk about the chick lit plot then I will promise to consider a follow up to _Sign_? Deal?"

He would consider it? It's her writing career. Her book. What does he have to consider? She feels anger flare up in her chest but the last thing she wants to do is rock the boat so she nods and smiles. A habit with Jonas. An instinct at this point.

"Deal," she replies with a hollow smile.

"Maybe you can channel your need for a follow up into a screenplay," Jonas suggests as the doors open. "Provided this movie is a hit and they want another one, that is."

He exits the elevator first. Her eyes find Wyatt's unintentionally. He looks as though he wants to say something, to offer an opinion. But instead he motions for her to exit the elevator first.

"After you, ma'am," he says with a sigh. He looks deflated, like he's been waiting for something and now he's given up. She wonders if he's given up on _her_.

She steps off the elevator, but before she gets too far Wyatt's hand is on her shoulder, turning her to face him. He doesn't say anything. He just takes the paper to-go cup from her hands and drops it into the trashcan next to the elevator.

"If _he_ asks," Wyatt states, gritting his way through the acknowledgement of Jonas. "You dropped it."

And then he's gone. He walks ahead of her without another word. For some reason, she wants to cry. She failed to speak up for herself at every moment and it is clear how Wyatt feels about that. She's a doormat. She has always been a doormat. The only person to ever urge her to stand up for herself is Amy. Or was Amy. Until Wyatt.

Until now.

And she didn't. She couldn't.

And because she couldn't, she feels like she hurt _him_. Again.

God, this is going to be one of those days, isn't it? She should have stayed in bed.

* * *

They are halfway through the day before they finally have time to start preparations for the newly rewritten scene. Jonas has been stuck to her like glue. She has a feeling he suspects something has happened between her and Wyatt. He's been more publicly affectionate than he usually is and has been asking her questions about her likes and dislikes. It's as if he's trying to beat Wyatt at an undeclared competition. It's grating on Lucy's nerves.

So when Jiya comes to her, while Jonas is busy, and tells her Wyatt has questions about the new pages she is more than happy to slip away.

"What kind of questions?" she asks Jiya as the younger woman walks her to Wyatt's trailer.

She shrugs. "He didn't say. He just said he needed to talk to you."

Great, that's exactly what she needs. Wyatt questioning not only how she lives her life, but her writing, too. She sighs and nods as Jiya knocks. It's either face Wyatt or go back to Jonas while he hovers over her shoulder.

She would rather face Wyatt.

"I've got to go back to set," Jiya says as taps her headset, indicating something urgent has happened. "Are you good?"

Lucy smiles with forced politeness as she lies. "Yeah, I'm good."

The door opens as Jiya walks away and Lucy focuses a glare on Wyatt Logan. Damn, he looks good. His blue eyes look brighter when contrasted against the red Flannel shirt he's wearing and for a moment she's lost in them.

But then she remembers Jonas is waiting for her on set and severs the connection. No actors, no risks.

"You have questions?" she asks in irritation.

"I do," he says as he motions for her to come inside. "You might as well join me in here. This might take a while."

Alone? With Wyatt? In the privacy of his trailer? Does she trust herself in that situation? Does she have a choice?

"We have to shoot this scene in an hour. Can we move this along?" he asks with a huff.

She rolls her eyes at him and climbs the steps. "Fine."

The door closes behind her and she stands in front of him with her arms crossed. "I was told you have questions."

"Just one actually," he says as he leans against a nearby table. His jaw is set and locked. His stance is rigid and tense, and after a moment of seething silence he finally explodes. "Lucy, seriously, _that guy_?"

She runs a hand through her hair and sighs tiredly. "So this isn't about work then?"

"You can't possibly think he's right for you," Wyatt says with a furrowed brow.

"Just because he was never _People_ Mag's Sexiest Man Alive doesn't mean that he's not—"

"That is not what I mean and you _know_ that," Wyatt tells her with a frustrated and bewildered expression. "He doesn't care about _you_ and the things you want for yourself."

"And you know that after seeing us together this morning for, what, ten minutes?" Lucy asks him sharply with a roll of her eyes. "You don't know him, Wyatt. Stop acting like you do."

"You're right," he tells her. "I don't know him. But I know you."

She can't help it. She laughs. He's known her for four weeks. Exactly how much can he know. Her laugh causes him to take two big strides forward until his standing directly in front of her with a heated gaze.

"I know you hate sushi, I know you carry a box of cheap pens in your purse at all times, you prefer white wine to red, or if you're stressed a rum and coke. I remember how you said you take your tea. I sure as hell know better than to show up at your door with a cup of _black coffee_. I know your little sister is your best friend, I know you _don't_ want to write that stupid chick lit plot Jonah was throwing at you—"

"Jonas."

"What?" he asks.

"His name is Jonas," Lucy tells him with a glare and a hand on her hip.

"Do I look like I give a damn?" he asks with an annoyed expression. "My _point is_ that I have paid attention and remembered the stupid stuff because _it's you,_ and I can't help but notice. I notice every time you arrive in _any_ room. But I know more than that. I _see_ you, Lucy. That guy, Jonas or whoever, he doesn't see you! He has no idea who you really are."

"Stupid stuff? So, those little things you just claimed to know, that's all stupid stuff? Those little things are what make an intimate relationship. They're not stupid," she says as she glares at him.

"Yes, they are. They're useful things to know but they're not what matters," He tells her.

"Fine," Lucy says curtly. "Enlighten me. What exactly are the things that _matter_?"

"You have no idea how beautiful you are, for one. You're too damn self sacrificing. You hate disappointing other people. You're tenacious and stubborn when you believe in something and you know you're right. You're level-headed and rational Lucy Preston, and you _like_ knowing that's how people see you. You've written a beautiful romance in this movie and yet don't seem to believe in romance yourself. You never tell people how you really feel. You like _control_. You like to _lose_ control," Wyatt says when he finally stops to take a breath. He reaches a hand out to caress her cheek with the backs of his fingers, and it takes all she has not to lean into his touch. "Ask me how I know that last one, Professor. Go on, ask."

She doesn't need to ask. She knows. He figured that out night before last when she gave her control to him, if only for a night. She doesn't ask and she can tell he's frustrated by her refusal to play along. But what did he expect? Did he think she would take one look at his stupid handsome face and melt into his arms? This was real life, not a movie.

"I know because the other night I was in _your_ bed all night long, and you seemed more than happy to let me take the lead, _Luce_ ," Wyatt says softly as he puts his hands on her waist and tugs her closer to him. "You let me in." His lips are hovering dangerously close to hers now. So close that if she leans even an inch upward her mouth will touch his and it is so tempting. It is within her reach and if Wyatt would shut up, she would do just that. But the idiot has to keep talking. "Why _him_ and not _me_?"

The question sends her reeling back to reality. She steps back or tries to, he has a firm hold on her waist, and remembers. Jonas is dependable. Jonas rarely has to leave town to work. Jonas is _normal_.

"Because it just makes sense, Wyatt," she replies.

"Sense?" he asks with a furrowed brow. "Sense? Really?" His voice raises and he releases her waist. "That's the answer you're going with? _Sense_?"

If he wants to shout then she can shout, too.

She glares at him and begins to tick off the reasons on her fingers. "He doesn't leave for months on end to work. He doesn't have random women slipping him their numbers on cocktail napkins. He doesn't film love scenes with actresses and then _run away with them_ to Ibiza or where the goddamn ever they went, he doesn't treat me like a fucking meal ticket. He's safe, he's _sensible_ , he's sane, and he's—"

"Boring," Wyatt interrupts loudly. "He's boring, Lucy. And after the year you and I have had, I get that. Noah was a son of a bitch and he treated you like shit, but he was fucking idiot and I am _not_ an idiot. I would never do to you what he did and I would _never_ use you for my career. I have no problems getting roles on my own. _I_ don't need a meal ticket, Baby Doll," he yells with a frustrated shake of his head. "No movie, no role, no part of my career would keep me from being there for _you_. No matter how far away I may be or how long my shooting schedule is. So, if that's what's holding you back, then—then I'm sorry but that is _bullshit_. I don't get a fair shot because he met you first? I don't even get a chance with you because you happened to meet a bastard that called himself an actor? Really? You're better than that, and you are _braver_ than that. _I know you are_."

They are both red faced and squared off against each other now. Full on arguing, louder than they ever have before, in the middle of his trailer. There is no doubt that anyone passing by can hear every word but she cannot bring herself to care. How. Dare. He. _Baby Doll? Did he call her fucking baby doll?_ She is so pissed that she could spit and, if she didn't find spitting so disgusting, she _would_. It is her prerogative if she never wants to date an actor again. He's accusing her of being a coward? He knows her? He doesn't know her! There are so many things they haven't talked about. Just because they slept together, doesn't mean he _knows her_.

"You keep saying that! But you don't _know_. What's my middle name? My birthday? How long ago did my dad die? Oh, I'm sorry, did you not know he passed?" Her voice is loud and increasing in volume with each question. He doesn't move, doesn't flinch. He just _seethes_. She finds his eyes and hopes the fire in her veins is reflected in her brown eyes. "You. Don't. Know. Me. _Sweetheart_." The endearment is said with patronizing venom and she can see his jaw twitch as she uses it. Finally, something visually upset him. She was beginning to think he was a damn stone wall.

He scoffs at her. "Those things I can _learn_. Those are facts, history. Anyone can know those things about you. But I _know_ you. I see _you_. Jonah—"

"Jonas."

"Still don't give a damn," Wyatt spits as he continues loudly. "His name doesn't matter because he can't even see through your people pleasing smile to put together that you hate sushi and drink tea. No _way_ he sees _anything_ else you try to hide from him. Is that what you want? You want _that_? I can't believe that. No, you want someone who challenges you. Who makes you admit what _you want_. Because you won't. You won't admit a single damn thing that you want for yourself if you think it will hurt someone else. Noah and your mother took advantage of that for far too long and neither of them ever _deserved_ you. He'll be no different. Hell, isn't he already doing that? What about your book, Lucy?"

"What about it?" Lucy asks in aggravation. He hit too close to home. She feels her defenses going up along with her stress. He can't know all of that about her in just four weeks. _He can't_.

"You told me you wanted to write a follow up to _Signs,_ and he should be encouraging you. But he's not, is he? No, he has other plans for _your book_. You tried to tell him this morning and he didn't listen. But what's worse than that, than him ignoring what you want, is _you_ agreeing to it." His arms are swinging wildly as he yells and he stops swinging them to point an accusing finger at her. As much as she wants to see anger in his eyes, she doesn't. What she sees is protective fear and irritation. "You've been through this before or have you forgotten? Have you forgotten how your mother and Noah took control of _Carbon Copy?_ How you _let them_ take control of it? You're letting him do the exact same thing and he is more than happy to exploit that. To _exploit you_. You cannot seriously tell me that you would rather have _that_ than be with me. I refuse to believe that."

He is not right. _He is not_. Jonas would never do that. She'll talk him around on the idea. She will. Except, deep down she knows she won't. She knows she'll sit across from him at dinner tonight, look him in the eyes, and ultimately agree with whatever he thinks is best. And what's worse is, after this morning, she is almost certain Jonas takes that for granted. Now, she's angry with herself. With Jonas. And then it all circles back around to Wyatt because he brought it to her attention. She could have lived without knowing that Jonas was just like everyone else who ever tried to get what _they wanted_ out of her. Why couldn't he just let her be?

"You know what?" she says through gritted teeth. "I don't have to stay here and take this from you. I told you, Wyatt, this is never going to happen. _We_ are never going to happen. Jonas is normal and removed from all of this Hollywood _shit_ and that is all that matters to me."

She turns to storm away but trips over the raised corner of a rug. She sees the corner of a table rapidly coming closer to her face and shuts her eyes to brace for the blow, but it never comes. Instead she feels a hand on her arm that catches her and spins her until her chest collides against something warm and solid and _safe_. She breathing heavily and still trying to find her bearings when she opens one eye to find Wyatt searching her face in concern.

No. _No_. He can't look at her like that. They were just screaming at each other. He should be furious with her.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks as his arms tighten around her waist.

She shoves him away as hard as she can. He stumbles back a couple of paces and looks skyward with a loud exhale, as if willing himself to calm down. The frustration and furrowed brow are back on his face when he looks at her again.

"I'm sorry. Would you have rather I let you fall and crack your skull?" he asks with a glare.

She's still panting to try and still her rapidly beating heart, but the erratic thumping isn't from her near fall. No, it's from _him_. Why, of all people, does she have to be attracted _to him_? She's so mad at whatever force is in control of the universe because she doesn't want to want him. She doesn't want to need him. She doesn't want to pull him back in so he can wrap his arms around her once again. She doesn't want any of that and it's somehow all his fault. Why does he have to be so caring and concerned and why does he have to want her to be happy? Why can't _he_ just move on with his life so she can move on with hers?

Stupid, handsome, _good_ man. Handsome and good are not bad descriptors but she thinks them with an accusation. She's glaring right back at him with every ounce of frustration she knows he feels. Their eyes connect and then suddenly…

 _She wants him_.

What the hell is that? They're both pissed, and not just at each other, but her body seems to have a mind of its own because more than anything she is _craving_ him. Without thinking, she flings herself across the small space that separates them and covers his lips with hers. He lets out a soft growl against her lips and backs her up to the nearest wall. He pins her against it with his body, pressing himself tightly against her. Her soft curves, meeting his lean muscle. She feels him untucking her blouse from her skirt and then feels his calloused hands on the smooth skin of her stomach. She gasps and he takes full advantage of her open mouth. These kisses are not the same kisses as the last time. These kisses are hot, urgent, and _wet_. Sloppy as hell.

Good God, if she doesn't love it.

His hands softly trail up her stomach and then under the cups of her bra until he's palming and massaging her breasts. She whines into his mouth with an urgent level of need she didn't even know it was possible to _feel_. She arches against him as he continues. As soon as her lips leave his, his mouth is firmly secured to her weak spot, the pulse point on her neck.

She can feel him now, pressing hard and insistent against her through his jeans. His hardness matches the warmth pooling between her legs and she is momentarily amazed. How were either of them ready for this so quickly? They took it slow last time and there was torturous build up, but this…

This is happening so fast that she hardly has time to think, let alone hear the voice that plagued her the first time.

He removes his hands from her bra to cup her ass and then trail down the outside of her thighs until he's grasping the undersides of her knees. He presses her harder against the wall and lifts. She takes the hint and wraps her legs around his waist. The new position puts her core right up against _him_ and she can't resist grinding against him. The layers of clothes between them are thinner for her, especially with her skirt naturally riding up around her upper thighs while he's between her legs. The friction of his jeans and erection against her lacy underwear is just too delicious. Practically forbidden.

He's moving with her a moment later while he unbuttons her blouse and then shoves it down her shoulders. She releases her grip on his upper arms long enough to pull her arms out and for him to undo the back clasp of her bra. She tosses both aside and then clings to his shoulders once again. He's the only thing keeping her head above water, the only thing keeping her from drowning in the pleasure building between them.

Her bare chest is pressed against his clothed one as he captures her lips again. He's pressing her to the wall with nothing but the solid weight of his body. She doesn't feel his hands on her anywhere now. She's so distracted by his tongue branding hers and then exploring her every inch of her mouth that it escapes her notice. So, he catches her by complete surprise when he hastily pushes her underwear aside and enters her. She cries out at the jolt of delicious pressure inside of her and feels him press his lips to her ear as holds steady, not moving even a fraction of an inch.

His husky voice, dripping with yearning hunger, is now tauntingly speaking against the shell of her ear. "I know _he_ doesn't fit perfectly inside you like I do, _Luce_. He doesn't fill you like _this_." On the word 'this' he thrusts, hard and fast.

She's gasping for air as her skin overheats and she presses her nails into his back. She's so close to slipping below the surface and drowning in him completely. She holds tight to him as he thrusts again and again, deeper and deeper each time. His movements turn frantic and fast and fierce the closer they both get to release. Her hands frame his face and pull his lips down to hers. The kisses that they indulge in are savage and possessive.

This moment is the opposite of the first time they made love in every way.

There is no tenderness, only raw need.

She's never one to be loud during sex. Not even with Wyatt their first night together, but in _this moment_ with _him_ she has no control over the sounds leaving her lips. She's close to bursting when he abruptly slows his pace.

He presses his forehead to hers, leaving her eyes no choice but to find his. His eyes are trying to communicate something she isn't sure she wants to name. The tenderness is back and in his eyes she finds something deep and faithful. She shouldn't think it because it's the last thing she's supposed to want, but she has the strange thought that he's trying to promise her he isn't going anywhere. That he wants her for the foreseeable future. She might be wrong, maybe he means something else, but regardless she sees longing and _intention_ in his eyes. So much of it that he steals the breath from her lungs and now her breathing is erratic as her heartbeat.

She's right on the cusp of letting go. His recent slow pace has kept her from being immersed in bliss, from falling over that ledge from a few nights ago. She's getting impatient. She wants to drown. She wants to fall.

His name leaves her lips in a desperate plea that's a mix of a sob and moan, and that seems to pull the trigger. It seems to send him back to the place they were before he wordlessly begged her to meet his eyes. It sends both of them back to those feelings of possession and frustration. His movements are furiously quick again and his kisses intrusive and messy. _Raw. Passionate. Hungry._

And then it happens, she's careening over the edge toward cool refreshing water that she cannot wait to lose herself in. Her hands fist in Wyatt's shirt as she comes. His name is spilling from her lips again in satisfaction and exhaustion as he joins her. He's just landed at the bottom of the cliff with her, her muscles are still in spasms around him, when there's a knock at this trailer door.

"Wyatt? They're calling places."

 _Jiya_.

"Right," Wyatt replies. His voice is hoarse and deep and they both know Jiya won't hear him. He clears his throat and tries again. "Right! I'll be there in a minute."

"Alright, but you'd better hurry. Mason is in a mood. Just giving you a heads up. See you on set!"

"Yeah," he replies lamely. She feels every rumble of his voice against her stomach and through their current connection. Oh, God, what did they just do? "See you on set."

There's a moment where they're both frozen, as if they are holding their breath to make sure Jiya is really gone. Once that moment passes, they're left to stare at each other awkwardly.

"I, um, I guess we'd better…" he says as he lets his sentence trail off.

She pushes gently against his shoulders. "I think we can, uh, untangle now."

And so they do. She finds her bra and and her blouse and he buttons himself up and she goes to leave. Not knowing what she wants or _should_ say in this situation. She really thinks he might let her escape without another word until his hand grabs hers as she turns away. She stops but doesn't face him. _She can't_ face him.

"Lucy—"

She cuts him off. For the sake of her heart she has to. "We don't really have time for this right now. We need to get to set and, in the interest keeping the rumors at bay, we shouldn't arrive together."

He reluctantly releases her hand and she practically sprints from his trailer. How did she let that happen _again_?

She hides out in the bathroom for several minutes. She needs to think and regain her composure. She needs to find her footing in logic and reason.

Just because it happened, doesn't mean it's significant. Except she's not exactly the type of person to think of sex as a casual act. It _always_ means something to her. She should never have gone to his trailer. She knew that was a bad idea the minute he invited her in.

But _why_ did it happen? What had she been thinking? She was so angry at him and angry at herself. He catches her. He saves her from a trip to the ER, most likely. And that's all it takes for her to jump him? Because that's what she did. She literally jumped his bones. She was trying to express how much she didn't want him one moment and then…

Why is her heart _determined_ to disobey her mind?

She needs piece of reality cling to. She needs a reminder of how fabricated love and romance actually is to help her climb out of this spiral. Loving Wyatt Logan would only lead to heartache. She needs to be around something that will reinforce that idea. Something to keep her from falling into his arms.

The only thing she can think of at that particular moment... _is Jonas_. She heads back to set and seeks him out. She will glue herself to his side like he tried to do to her earlier. He is reality. Wyatt Logan is a dream.

And she _always_ wakes up from her dreams, even if she doesn't want to.

The only time they see each other for the rest of the day is on set when they're surrounded by hundreds of other people. They both seem to decide focusing on work is the only way to make it through the day. When the day is over and they all return to the hotel she parts with Jonas at the elevators to get ready for their date. She's freshly showered and towel drying her unruly hair when there's a knock on her door.

She glances through the hole in the door and freezes. Wyatt.

She'll just ignore him. He'll go away. He doesn't know if she's in her room or not. She can pretend she isn't here. Except, she thinks as she eyes her hair dryer on the bathroom counter, if she doesn't blow dry her hair soon there will be no point. He will definitely know she's in the room if he hears the hair dryer.

Besides, she has to face him at some point. _This time_ she will stand her ground. He will not break down her defenses. She will resist and prove to him that whatever is happening between them _isn't real_.

She opens the door with a sigh and gives him an annoyed expression. "Yes?"

"We have to talk...about _today_ ," he tells her with a nervous glance as he leans against the doorway.

"I don't see why that's necessary," she says. She means it, too, because she would really rather forget the whole thing ever happened.

His eyes narrow on her and he opens his mouth to speak but then glances around the hallway cautiously. "Can I come in? I mean we can have this conversation across the doorway if you want but—"

"Or I could just slam the door in your face," Lucy states with a narrowed gaze all her own. She was _not_ repeating the same mistake twice. Being alone with Wyatt Logan is never happening again. Especially not while she's wearing nothing but a terrycloth robe.

"Why are you being so difficult? There is obviously _something_ happening between us and I thought that would be obvious after today—"

"Today was a reckless and impulsive _mistake_ ," Lucy says as she cuts him off. "So was the other night. I should never have let myself get caught up in all of this movie magic or whatever insanity I've been suffering from. Filming will end in another six weeks and then you and I will go back to our regular lives. Do you really see _this_ ," she pauses and motions between the two of them. "Going anywhere after that? I find it hard to believe that Mr. Action would want me once we're back in the City of Angels where there are plenty of more appealing options."

"Hold on," Wyatt says as he pushes off the doorway and gives her a doubtful look. "You think I want you because we're on a film set and there are no other options? You're shitting me, right?"

"I'm a writer, nerd, and klutz who regularly has a pen mark or two on her face because I stick pens behind my ears without the caps on. I'm a mess. And you...you're...well you're—"

"A jealous asshole who until about a week ago was trying to purposefully make your life hell? Also the guy who drunkenly pretended he didn't care about you and threw hurtful words in your face? Yeah, yeah that's me. Reckless, hotheaded, and moronic. You're talking like you think I'm too good for you but I'm completely certain it's the other way around," he admits as he stares deeply into her eyes. "You genuinely don't see how amazing you are or understand any of what you deserve and I'm not saying I deserve you because I'm pretty sure I don't, but I _am_ saying that you're too good for Jonas. You deserve better _than him_."

She isn't sure what to do with the look he's giving her now. It's pleading and hopeful yet self-deprecating all at once. It's as if he's taking a shot that he knows he'll miss. He anticipates losing but he can't risk giving up the chance that he'll win. Who does that? Who fights a battle they think they are certain to lose on the off chance it might go their way?

A reckless hothead that's who.

She can see on his face that he doesn't think she'll choose him but he cannot stand the idea of her choosing Jonas. To feel something like that—to care so much that you just want to make sure the other person is happy even if it isn't with you—then he would have to be…

No. No way. He can be attracted to her, sure. They can have chemistry, she'll admit to that even if she's never been a believer in "chemistry." They can have outstanding sex. But he absolutely cannot, after only four weeks, be in love with her. It's not possible. Her imagination is getting the better of her or maybe...maybe she's projecting?

Oh god, does she love him? Is she seeing love in expression because she's the one who's in love?

As always with Wyatt, he's making her feel things that terrify her beyond all reason. He makes her feel things that are fast and big and loud. He took root in her heart almost instantly and no matter how she tries, she cannot weed him out.

He has to go before she says something she regrets, before she shows her hand. But he looks more determined than ever to stay and the only times she has ever gotten him to leave is when she has tried to provoke him into a fight. He sees through it by now but it's all she has, all she knows, to keep her distance. She will use it to keep her sanity for as long as she can.

"And, what, you think that's _you_? You think you're better than Jonas?"

Her tone is harsh and patronizing. He flinches like hearing those words from her physically hurt him. Saying them hurts her, too.

"I think I'm better _for you_ than Jonas, yes," he says through a tense jaw.

"So, Jonas doesn't know I like tea, he doesn't know I hate sushi...big deal. I hardly think that's reason enough for me to leave him, especially for someone who is such a risk," Lucy tells him. "You think I should choose sex over a stable and solid relationship?"

"What you have with Jonas is not stable or solid," Wyatt says with a roll of his eyes. "If it was either of those things we wouldn't have had sex—" he stops and looks skyward as he appears to mentally count "—four times now?" He smirks at her and she desperately wants to smack him. "You would be running to him with your fears and worries. He would know what you really wanted and how deeply Noah and your mother actually hurt you. But he doesn't, does he? You can't talk to him about that, can you? He doesn't make you feel as safe as you pretend he does. You don't trust him. Do you really want to go all in on a man you don't trust?"

"Better him than an actor," Lucy says with a scoff.

"How in the _hell_ does this still boil down to my _career choice_? How many times do I have to tell you that I am _not_ Noah? Jesus Christ, I know you're stubborn but you would think you would get it by now," Wyatt jeers. "Noah didn't care about you Lucy, _I do_. And I know you care about me, too. I know you don't care about Jonas the way you care about me."

She shakes her head at him. "You can't _know_ any of those things. You're not as attuned to me as you think you are."

He takes a step forward until his lips are hovering over hers and then he dips his head and fastens his mouth to her neck, to her treacherous pulse point. His arms wrap around her and pull her to him in a tight grip and she doesn't fight it. Doesn't attempt a single protest. _She can't._ She melts and settles into his embrace. A soft whimper escapes her and as soon as it does he's pulling away. He stands further away from her than he has for their entire conversation and grins like the cat that ate the canary. Meanwhile, she's standing there breathless, with her mouth agape, warmth pooling in her belly. _Dammit_.

"I'm _attuned_ enough to know what you like and _how_ you like it, _without_ you ever having to tell me. Can Jonas say the same? Does he know how damn _loud_ you can be? I bet he doesn't," Wyatt says as he searches her face for an answer. "Does it mean so much to be with him that you _cry_? Because you did with me, _Luce_. You can pretend that the other night was a mistake, that you want to take it all back, but we both know better. Because if you really thought that, you would have kicked me out of your bed after that first time. But you didn't do that. No, you reached for me again later that night and then again today. You _want_ this as much as I do but you're letting your fear get the better of you."

"You don't know what I want. You don't know what I feel," Lucy says in a voice that she knows sounds less than certain. Her intense reaction to his lips on her neck has her shaken. It was barely anything but she's this close to yanking him inside of her room for more of what they did in his trailer.

"Keep telling yourself that, Professor," He says with a derisive snort. "But I think it's more likely that _you_ don't know what you want or how you feel. I know exactly what I want, and I think I've made that pretty clear to you."

Clear? What's clear exactly? That he's the best sex of her life? That he wants her to be happy? That he cares about her? Yes, she would agree that those things are clear, but none of those things say commitment. None of those things tell her if he'll still feel that way a few weeks from now. Does he want an actual relationship with her? Does he see a possible future where they end up together or does he just think they might have a little bit of fun? He says he's been clear but to her it's anything but.

"No, you haven't, Wyatt. You haven't been clear _at all_. Is it clear that you care about me? Yes, I think so, but so does Jonas. Am I certain that you believe in my talent? Yes, you have actually made that clear. But, again, so does Jonas. So, other than sex, what do you bring to the table that Jonas doesn't?" She asks with a frustrated glower. "What's _different_ about you?"

"If you don't know that by now then there's no point in my telling you," he quips. "I have proven myself to you. I have told you how I see you and how badly you deserve to have everything you want." He looks down at the floor and chuffs before his eyes find hers again. They're burning with frustration and resentment. "I have tried to show you that in so many ways, but if after all of this you still don't believe me—don't trust me—then why am I wasting my goddamn time?" His voice grows louder as he continues. "I'm not going to beg you to love me. Either you do or you don't, that's the bottom line. I can't stop you from giving into your fear, even if it kills me. I can't do that because how you decide to live your life is up to _you_. Not me. But dammit, Lucy, you should want so much more for yourself than what you've accepted so far."

He shakes his head and takes another step away from her, she fights herself to keep from reaching for him. His words feel like knives in her chest. He's right. She knows he's right.

"Maybe someday you will," he tells her. "But I don't know if I can wait for that. It just hurts too much." He lets out a mirthless chuckle and then nods at her. "So, you know what, _I'm done_."

She thought the fear of loving him was paralyzing enough. But the fear of _losing_ him? That's _eviscerating_. She's watching him walk away from her and she can't seem to move. She can't speak. _Nothing_. Her breathing becomes shallow and she feels like she's choking. She thinks her heart is in her throat and it's strangling her. Down the hall, she hears his door slam, but she's still standing in her doorway, petrified.

He's done? What does that mean? She's as confused by that as she is about how 'clear' he thinks he's been. So, he's walking away from her forever. Who cares? Isn't that what she wanted? Wasn't that the choice she was trying to force him to make?

Well, she succeeded. She should be happy.

But she isn't.

She refuses to let her heart break, though. It can't break because she is not in love with him. Her heart has never been at risk and it still isn't. She channels what she's feeling somewhere else. She channels it into anger. How dare he come to her room and say all of these things. How dare he try to tell _her_ how to feel! He can't know her heart better than _she_ does. It's _her heart_ not his. Last time she checked, it beat inside of _her chest_. Just because they'd once been naked chest to naked chest and he'd felt her heart beat against his doesn't mean he knows what's inside of it.

How _dare_ he make such presumptions.

He made her want to scream or throw something.

She was feeling too much at once and it was all because of him. Her control was slipping away from her _because of him_. Her confusion, her heartache, and her warring emotions were all _his fault_.

She turns and storms back into her hotel room. She kicks the door shut behind her with such force that she nearly knocks one of the bland hotel room paintings off the wall. Her eyes land on her laptop as it sits on the desk at the far end of the room and she knows what she needs to do. It's a compulsion at this point to use her writing as a means of dealing with her frustrations about Wyatt Logan. Why stop now?

Her fingers fly across the keyboard as she lets her emotions fly. Her anger at the world, fury at Noah, bitterness toward a mother who knows exactly how to wound her, suspicions that Jonas isn't the unquestionable choice she thought he was, and, lastly, her vexation with Mr. Action himself. She prints the pages and throws them into her script folder.

She needs to stay busy, to do something. These pages are not being emailed. She is handing them to Denise directly. She ignores the cocktail dress she laid out on her bed and throws on jeans and a t-shirt instead. Her hair is half dry so she's lost her chance to tame her curls, but she doesn't care. She just going to see Denise. She calls down to the lobby and has them bring around one of the studio's courtesy vehicles before rushing to meet it.

Within ten minutes she's on her way to the soundstage, within twenty five she's marching toward Denise's office, and within forty Denise is finishing her first read through.

Denise throws the papers down on her desk and settles a knowing look on her.

"You know I'm going to say no, don't you? You want us to end the film with Flores successfully thwarting the American Revolution and Leslie returning to a present time where Will Lancaster never existed? Wyatt Logan is our box office draw! You know I can't do that. In fact, you've known that this whole time," Denise tells her with a tired sigh. "Why do you keep sending me these?"

"I...just think it would be unexpected and creative," Lucy lies.

"Not to mention franchise suicide," Denise tells her with raised brow. "What's really going on here? Is there something happening between you and Wyatt?"

"What?" she asks, a little too loudly. "No," she says emphatically. "Absolutely not."

Lucy doesn't blame Denise when she gives her a doubtful look. She wouldn't believe herself either.

"The lady doth protest too much," Denise says in a bored tone.

"I have no feelings whatsoever about Wyatt Logan," Lucy says with a huff.

"You tried to kill him nine times!" Denise yells with a dry laugh.

"Yes," Lucy says slowly, as she tries to think of how to justify it. "I restrained myself nine times. You should be proud!"

"No, dear," Denise says with a laugh. "I restrained you nine times. You would have had Will Lancaster drawn and quartered several times over by now if it weren't for me."

"It wasn't about him! It was just about the film," Lucy yells. She has no idea why she's yelling at Denise. Her voice sounds desperate even to her own ears.

"Really? Okay, so tell me, what's wrong with the ending you've already written?" Denise asks her. "You've been faithful to everything else in your book, why change the end?"

She stutters and stammers but can't seem to string any words together to form an actual sentence. She knows it's a futile effort because she doesn't know the answer. She likes the ending of the script very much. It has the exact tone she always imagined and it sets up future movies _perfectly_. She doesn't want to change it. She doesn't want to change anything in her script actually. But how does she tell her boss that she was writing about Will Lancaster's death because it was the only thing that kept her from murdering the actor who portrays him?

Denise takes pity on her and interrupts her pathetic sputtering.

"You know what, forget it. I don't want to know. Because it seems messy and complicated and I don't have the patience for that. What I do know is that I will no longer accept these pages from you. I am not your therapist. I am your executive producer. This is a professional film and not whatever revenge fantasy you keep trying to talk me into making. If you have an issue with Wyatt Logan _take it up with him_. Keep it out of the studio and out of my office. Are we clear?"

Denise's lips are set in a tight grim line and her eyes are narrowed. She looks terrifying. Lucy gulps and nods.

"Yes, ma'am."

Lucy stands to leave but is surprised by Denise's hand landing on her arm.

"Some friendly advice, Lucy? People don't react as strongly to someone as you have unless there is real _passion_ there. I know, from going through this process with you, that your history with people in this industry hasn't been the happiest, but you can't let the unworthy people in this world change you," Denise pasts her arm and then releases it. She smiles warmly and Lucy can feel it comforting her. She knows Denise has two children and, as Denise continues, Lucy thinks she must be an excellent mother. "I understand being cautious, but there comes a point where being cautious turns into living in fear. _Don't_ live in fear. Don't hide from what you really want. I tried that once upon time and all I did was hurt myself. I would hate to see you do the same."

"Thank you," Lucy tells her as she tries her best to return Denise's smile. But so much of what she says reminds her of Wyatt. He's been telling her that same thing this whole time. She heard him, but she didn't listen. She willfully ignored him.

Lucy watches Denise throw her pages into the shred bin before she turns and leaves. The shredding of those pages leaves her feeling like something finally clicks. Maybe it's a delayed reaction from Denise's lecture or maybe it's the visual of her fear being ripped to pieces. She's not entirely sure.

Either way, she's beginning to realize that Wyatt is right. He has been this entire time. About her, about _them_ , about everything.

But especially about Jonas.

She took a risk by going with Mason Studios. She chose herself over her mother or Noah for the first time in years or maybe her whole life, and Jonas was her retreat back to her old patterns. She gave up two controlling and manipulative people and then replaced them with Jonas. What is wrong with her? Is she really that afraid of living her own life and making her own decisions?

Yes, she is. That is exactly why Wyatt terrifies her.

He is everything she never knew she needed and he expects her to stand up for herself. He _expects_ her to be brave and tell the world what _she_ wants. Other than her sister, he is the first person in her life to stand back and really _hear_ her. Not only does he listen but he wants her to follow through, to succeed. She is not used to that. He doesn't want anything from her for himself. He just wants to be there for her. He _genuinely_ wants to help.

It's been so long since she felt that from someone that she couldn't bring herself to trust it. To trust him. There's still a voice in her head, even now, whispering that he's too good to be true. That he declared he was done. That she's too late. That she will never compare to his starlet ex-wife.

She sees his face in the elevator with Jonas earlier that day and remembers what it felt like to know he was disappointed in her. She didn't know why his opinion mattered then, or maybe she did and she couldn't admit it, but she knows now. It all makes sense. The way she wants to comfort him because she knows he's just as broken as she is, how difficult it was to avoid him for days on end, the need to reach for him when his face takes on that anguished look he wears too often, the fact that his opinion means more to her than anyone else's, and the _need_ she feels to be with him. It all fits and leads to one conclusion that she knows she's been in denial about for longer than she cares to admit.

 _She loves him_.

It's only been four weeks. It's been four _insane_ weeks of fighting and flirting and honest conversations and, more recently, sex that makes her toes curl, but still only four weeks.

And yet…

 _She loves him._

They ran at a breakneck pace towards each other. No matter how hard they put on the brakes they couldn't seem to stop. The crash was inevitable. She sees that now. She's always believed in fate but never believed in romance. It seems fate wanted to teach her a lesson. Sometimes, the two go hand in hand. There is romance in the world, chemistry actually exists, and everything really does happen for a reason. Every heartbreak she went through led her closer and closer to him. She pieced together her heart, bit by bit, following the shards like a trail of breadcrumbs never realizing that she would find _him_ at the end of the path.

 _She loves him._

But she fucked it all up.

The image of him walking away from her looking rejected and defeated sticks in her brain and stings. She's rubbing salt in her wounds at this point, but she deserves it. She was so busy protecting herself and pushing him away that she hurt him. Is it too late? Can she fix it?

No, she won't go into this doubting herself. She loves him. She made mistakes and she _will_ make up for them.

Her new drive and determination is brought to an abrupt halt as she approaches her hotel room. There, sitting on the floor next to her door, is Jonas. He's dressed for dinner at a nice restaurant and she immediately remembers the cocktail dress that is still laid out on her bed. She was supposed to have dinner with Jonas.

She got so caught up in Wyatt that she _forgot_ Jonas. She feels the corners of her mouth tug upward slightly as she thinks, _what else is new_?

"You missed dinner," he says. He stands as she approaches and gives her an anticipative glance.

"Yes, sorry about that," she says with a sigh. "I got a little distracted."

"I know, they told me down stairs you called a car and ran off to the studio. Movie making emergency?" he asks. She can see that he already knows he won't like her answer. His face is solemn and drawn.

"No," she replies honestly. "Not an emergency. It doesn't really matter."

"It matters to me," he says as he crosses his arms over his chest. "I flew all the way across the country to see you, so I think it's only fair that you tell me why you stood me up for dinner."

"You know," Lucy says with a forced polite smile. His tone is really irking her. She understands that he's upset, but he has no right to any information that she doesn't care to give him. "I don't think I will."

"So, that's it then? You just stand me up and I have to live with it?" he asks her with an angry glare.

"Pretty much, actually, yeah," she tells him as she leans against the wall next to her door.

"Is it because of the book?" He asks with a challenging look. "Because I don't think your intellectual sci-fi techobabble history lecture of a book will sell a second time? Is that why you're pissed at me?"

"I actually wasn't anything at you until you opened your mouth a few minutes ago," she tells him with a smirk. "I forgot you were even here."

"Nice," he says with a roll of his eyes. "That's just what every guy wants to hear his girlfriend say."

"Well, then I guess it's a good thing I'm not your girlfriend anymore," she says with a pinched grin and shrug. "Also, I'm contacting the publisher tomorrow and requesting a new editor."

"So, this _is_ because of the book," he says with a sarcastic chuckle and a nod. "I'm just trying to save you from yourself, babe. _Carbon Copy_ was soulless and everyone knows it. You need to do something catchy and flashy. Readers don't want to be lectured over three hundred pages. I've been doing this for a while I _think_ I know what I'm doing."

She rolls her eyes and sighs tiredly. "I don't want to write your damn chick-lit book, _babe_. Also, I think I have more faith in the general population than you do because I think people _want_ to learn. I think they want to be entertained and educated all at once. More than that, I think we, as a culture, need to _encourage_ that. Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. I will write what I want to write and it will be educational and idealistic and it will _make_ people care about their world again. And if you won't help me with that then I guess I'll just have to shove you out of the way, won't I?"

"That's what you want?" he asks with a blank expression. "Well, I guess it's a good thing the world revolves around Lucy Preston then, huh? You know your last book hurt _my career_ too. You owe me."

Her eyebrows rise and she's so shocked by his statement that she actually finds herself laughing at him. "I _owe you?_ I don't owe you a damn thing. I didn't even want to _write that book_. The publisher, your bosses by the way, read the unfinished manuscript at my mother's urging and made a deal _with her_. No one even asked me! And you know what? While you were editing that book, you said absolutely nothing about hating it. So, Jonas, there is no way in _hell_ I owe you, and I certainly don't owe the publisher. I will write what I want to write and the publisher can either get on board or let me go. At this point, I can't say I care."

"Well, I can't wait to report that sentiment to my boss," he tells her with a smirk. "Go ahead, write what you want, we'll see how much longer you have a career. I cannot believe you are being so _selfish_."

Selfish? _Selfish_? She sees red and feels her face flush as anger builds in her body. Wow, he was really showing his true colors, wasn't he? Was he trying to manipulate her by playing on her insecurities?

"Hell yes, I'm being selfish," she yells. It's late and she is certain she is waking someone up but she is too pissed to care. "For the second time in my goddamn life I am being _selfish_. I am doing what makes me happy. I am standing up for myself and not letting a _user_ like you twist me around in knots. If you want your idiotic rom-com thriller mystery written so badly, then write it yourself. If you have the talent for it, that is. You know what they say. Those who can't write, _edit_. And you know what else? _I hate sushi and you should have noticed_. Also, black coffee? Have you ever known me to drink black coffee? If anyone standing in this hallway is a _selfish asshole_ , it's _you_."

"Well, Lucy," he says with an irritated click of his tongue. "Tell me how you really feel, why don't you."

"I think I just did. Now, go the hell home, Jonas. I don't want you here," Lucy tells him with a dismissive wave of her hand as she pulls her key card out of her back pocket.

"I can't wait to watch you crash and burn," he says as he watches her open the door to her room. "And this precious movie of yours? I hope it tanks. I hope not even the great Wyatt Logan can save it and it sinks to the bottom of the box office faster than _Gigli_."

"Wow," she says sarcastically as she steps inside of her room. "Jonas, that was so charming and, you know, I think I want you back now."

He brightens momentarily. "Really?"

She rolls her eyes but leans toward him enticingly. He leans to meet her and as his lips hover close to hers she smirks and replies, " _Fuck no_."

While the door slams in his face, she flashes him a self satisfied grin. That felt good. Making a choice for herself, telling someone what she honestly wanted, not backing down **.**

She is never going to let herself be a doormat ever again. Going after what she wants feels right and she pledges to do it more often. Starting with _Wyatt Logan_.

For the second time that night she is wracked with emotions she can't seem to reconcile. She's also buzzing with adrenaline from that encounter with Jonas. For the past four weeks this has been the moment where she has sat down and written a Will Lancaster death scene, except right now she doesn't want to kill Wyatt Logan. She never really did, if she's honest with herself. Anger was easier to deal with than what she was truly feeling for him and so she made herself angry. She poisoned herself against him.

She wasn't doing that anymore. She knew how she felt. She was through lying to herself. So, maybe…

...maybe therein lies her salvation.

If she wrote through her anger then why couldn't she write through her love, too? And maybe it was time to stop rewriting her movie, and move forward. It was time to start living her life again and planning her future. She sits down at her desk, fingers hovering over the home keys, and pulls up a new document. It was time to write _for herself_. To write _her truth_. Once upon a time, when her writing was hidden away on her laptop that was all she did. But then other people tainted it, _tainted her_. That was over.

Maybe if Wyatt knew that—maybe if she showed him she could be brave—then he would forgive her. _Maybe_. It was worth a shot wasn't it? Even if it was a losing battle, she had to try. She couldn't give up.

So, instead of a script, she starts a novel. A prologue, really. Barely a tease of what she's always wanted the follow up to _Sign of the Times_ to be. As she writes, she thinks the follow up will be better, _stronger_. She's found her own real life Will Lancaster, and he is better than she ever imagined. She puts every bit of what she feels for him, and what she imagines Leslie feels for Will, on the pages.

It's a heartbreaking beginning, but it illustrates a great love. A great love that hurts and heals all at once, and a love that always comes full circle. Something steadfast and true that might be tested and bent and beaten, but can _never_ be broken. She hopes he understands. She hopes he reads her words and sees her heart.

She breathes deeply and presses print. A few minutes later, she slides them under his hotel room door and says a quick prayer to anyone who will listen. She prays these pages don't end up in the shred bin. Her previous rewrites were full of lies she told herself to maintain her personal status quo, but these pages are pieces of her. Pieces of her devotion and hopeful redemption.

They are pieces that she hopes he'll keep.

* * *

She passes out as soon as her head hits the pillow. She's emotionally and physically exhausted, and she doesn't have to be on set at the asscrack of dawn. Today is a night shoot day. No one has a call time until four in the afternoon, and her personal call time isn't until much later that evening.

So, to say she's irritated and surprised by the insistant knocking at her door at six in the morning is putting it mildly. She pulls her robe on over her shorts and tank top and yanks the door open with what she hopes is a fierce glare on her face, but in actuality probably more closely resembles a bleary eyed wince.

Her heart stops once the door is open and she gets a good look at what waits for her on the other side.

 _Wyatt Logan_. He's holding her pages in one hand and gripping the doorway tightly with the other. He looks short-winded and anxious while wearing nothing but flannel pajama pants. He looks as though he ran from her room to his in a hurry. He wasn't even wearing a shirt or socks. He was barefoot and half naked in the hall pounding on her door as if the building were on fire.

"Wyatt?" she asks with uncertainty. She's not a hundred percent sure she's awake.

"What is this?" he asks as he waves the pages at her.

She's all at once awake under the weight of his anticipating stare. "I—um, they're pages."

"From what?" he asks urgently. "Pages from what? It's not a script. It's not a death scene. So, what are they from?"

" _Tempus Fugit_ ," she replies as she bites worriedly on her bottom lip. "The follow up, or what will be the follow up, to _Sign_."

His face lights up, and for a moment she thinks he might jump forward and kiss her. His eyes brighten and travel down to her lips and then back up to her eyes, he shifts his weight, and his hand that's holding on to the doorway fidgets. It's like he's itching to touch her but doesn't want to cross some sort of invisible line.

"And you left them for _me_?" he questions with a furrowed brow. "Did you send any to anyone else?" he asks pointedly. "Your, um, _editor_ maybe?"

She tries not to grin at him and bites back a playful remark. _Smooth_ , Wyatt. Real smooth.

"Currently I am in between editors," she tells him. "I, sort of, fired my last one, I guess. Not that I can really fire him, I mean, he doesn't work for me. But I did email my publisher and ask for a new editor so I guess _technically_ I—"

Her sentence is cut short by his lips on hers. She gasps as he deepens the kiss and wraps his arms around her tightly. His kisses are resolved and forceful, like the steps he takes to walk her backwards and further into her room. He lets go of her with one arm and absently shuts the door behind him. Her hands land on his bare chest and then trace over the muscles on his stomach of their own volition. She knows, in reality, they just did this yesterday but it _feels_ like an eternity. It feels like she's been on a year long journey since she left his trailer yesterday and she can tell he feels the same.

His kisses are more potent than any caffeine, and despite the fact that she's running on maybe three hours of sleep, she feels more alive than she as _in years_. He pulls back from the kiss to meet her eyes. They are full of admiration and awe as a joyful grin spreads across his face.

He holds the pages up for her again. She forgot he was still holding them.

"This is— _Lucy_ , I—I don't even know what to say. Your first book was brilliant, you know I believe that, but _this_. Jesus, I don't even know how to describe it. Your heart, your soul, _everything_ , drips from these pages. What made you finally start it?" he asks as he brings his hand that's not holding the pages to her face and caresses her cheek softly.

"I'm guessing you didn't read the dediation then," she says with a warm smile. "How dare you skip pages, Logan." She takes the stack of papers from him and turns to the second page. She taps the words and then turns it around for him to see. "I believe you'll find your answer right there."

He reads the words to himself and she watches him eagerly. He quirks a brow at the page and then gives her a lop-sided, unsure, smile. "Do you mean this?"

"Every word," she says as she takes a deep nervous breath.

In the next moment he's reading it aloud in a voice full of wonder and her heart nearly stops. "For the man I love, who saw me more clearly than I ever did." He puts the pages down on her desk and then wraps his arms around her again. "You love me?"

"I do. So much that it scares the shit out of me."

He laughs and then beams at her. Good god, with a smile like that she's never going to need to see the sun ever again.

"It does," she repeats. "That's why I—that's why I was so awful to you. You were right, Wyatt. The whole time I was fighting you, you were right. It was easier to find someone else to give into than it was to stand on my own two feet and decide things for myself. Jonas expected me to do as he said. He expected to walk all over me." Her tone is tense and angry but it turns tender as she goes on, as she focuses on the man in front of her. "But _you_ —you were so exquisitely different. You made it clear my choices were my own while encouraging me to do what made _me_ happy. All my life, people have tried to control my decisions and you just seemed too good to be true. I wanted to trust you but I didn't know how. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She feels her eyes watering as her hands reach up and caress his stubbled cheeks. "Do you forgive me? I wouldn't blame you if you—"

"Yes," he replies instantly. "You don't even have to ask."

And now she really is crying. They are gentle and joyful tears that fall silently down her cheeks because she never expected him to be so willing and ready to let her back in. "Really?"

"I wasn't exactly Prince Charming myself," he tells her with a shrug. "I'm pretty sure I criticized you and lectured you every chance I got and then I was so careless with you early on. The way I spoke to you...and then, of course, you didn't like that I was improvising with your words. With the way Noah and your mother—I don't think I will ever understand how they could do that to you. Have I told you that? You just wanted to make them happy and they-" She feels his muscles tense against her as he cuts off his own sentence and she is touched by his anger on her behalf. "My point is, I could have been more understanding initially but I was fighting us, too. A part of me still believed the doubts Jessica planted in my head and I didn't think I deserved a second chance. Not with you or anyone. So, you didn't exactly get my best self." He presses his forehead to hers and meets her watery brown eyes with his sincere blue ones. "If you can forgive me for that, then it's nothing to forgive you in return. Besides," he says with a playful smirk. "I don't know if you noticed, but I'm _kinda_ in love with you."

She lets out a watery chuckle and rolls her eyes at him. "Only kinda, huh?"

"Okay, admittedly, a little more than _kinda_ ," he says before his face grows serious and he closes the distance between them to kiss her fervently. It's a short kiss but so full of meaning that she can't say she minds. When he pulls back he brushes his nose against hers and sighs contentedly. "I love you, Lucy."

So maybe such a thing as movie magic actually does exist because this moment certainly feels like a happy ending. The credits will roll any minute, she thinks in amusement. Although, she doesn't think this is so much an ending as it is a beginning. She imagines that in this moment, instead of a title card with loopy elegant font stating 'The End', the words that appear in the movie of her life simply say…

 _The Beginning_.

* * *

 _ **PRINCIPAL PHOTOGRAPHY WRAPS ON SIGN OF THE TIMES**_

 _By Katie Drummond_

Filming wrapped yesterday in Atlanta, Georgia for Mason Studios coming attraction, _Sign of the Times_. Based on the New York Times best selling novel by Lucy Preston, _Sign_ promises to be a swashbuckling time traveling adventure full of spectacle and romance. Inside reports indicate the movie is still on schedule for it's 2020 release date. The jury is still out on whether or not any reshoots will be required to complete the film.

Today, the cast and crew returned Los Angeles, as evidenced by the attached photos of Wyatt Logan arriving at LAX just this morning. The actor seemed to be oblivious to the cameras as he escorted Lucy Preston to their waiting car. Is this confirmation of the rumors that have been flying around for the last month or so? Your guess is as good as mine, but I will say that they do look quite cozy strolling through the airport with her arm in his.

Much cozier than their exes seem to be. Celebrity gossip isn't my area of expertise, but it really isn't gossip if Noah and Jessica Cartwright decide to argue over dinner in the middle of Ago in West Hollywood, is it? It's more like fact.

The release date for _Sign of the Times_ has yet to be announced. Mason Films has slated the film's release for Summer 2020. Expect a press release regarding a more exact date in the coming weeks.

* * *

 _ **WYATT LOGAN: OFF THE MARKET?**_

 _By Judy Campbell_

It's been nearly three months since Wyatt Logan returned from filming his upcoming blockbuster, _Sign of the Times_ , when my colleague Katie Drummond reported that he was spotted looking absolutely besotted with bestselling author, Lucy Preston.

Celebrity gossip may not be Ms. Drummond's gig, but it is mine.

Rumor has it, Wyatt Logan isn't letting Lucy Preston go anytime soon. He was spotted leaving the Beverly Center just yesterday carrying a tiny box in that famous shade of Tiffany blue. Could wedding bells be on the horizon, once again, for Wyatt Logan? I, for once, hope so. Lucy Preston has done wonders for Mr. Action's brooding blue eyes in the last few months.

They are certainly fairing better than the ever dramatic Cartwrights, but that's a story for next week's column. Just between you and me, a little birdy told me Noah Cartwright might finally sign those divorce papers this week. I'm cheering him on from my office because I am honestly so tired of writing about them.

Looks like all's well that ends well, though, for Logan and Preston if that tiny blue box holds what I think it does.

 _Sign of the Times_ is set for theatrical release Memorial Day 2020 and Lucy Preston's follow up novel _Tempus Fugit_ has just recently been announced for Memorial Day 2019. Purposefully timed one year ahead of the movie's release. My source inside Cahill Publishing House tells me their office phones are ringing off the hook with request to move up the release date. It seems fans just can't get enough of the Time Team and their thrilling race to save history.

* * *

Wyatt's eyes widen as he reads Judy Campbell's article and he finds himself glad he picked up Lucy's magazine before she could. He really tried hard not to be spotted. Damn photographers. He quickly tosses the magazine in the trash and buries it with the coffee grounds he needs to discard from the filter. Even if she finds it, she won't want to read it now.

He's glad to have a successful career, but it makes it hard to plan anything in secret. He's already nervous as hell. He doesn't need the added pressure of her knowing what's coming. He's afraid she'll think it's too soon. Four months of being an official couple isn't that long in the grand scheme of things, but what's the point of waiting if he _knows_?

He knows in every fiber of his being that Lucy is meant for him. What he feels for her is nothing like anything he's ever felt before. He knew it was different from the minute he opened the door of that luxury sedan. It was an instant attraction and she hadn't even said a damn word. He tried for weeks to tell himself that's all it was. It was attraction, nothing more. But then he went to her room to discuss script pages and he glimpsed the woman behind the mask. He was a goner the minute she pulled out that goofy Marlon Brando impression.

She made him work for it every inch of the way. Persuading Lucy Preston to give him a chance was the most difficult thing he had ever done, and it was worth every minute of the torture he felt. Four weeks of pining for her, four weeks of trying to convince himself he didn't deserve her, four weeks of not understanding how the hell Noah could ever leave her, and four weeks of wishing she would let him love her like she deserved.

Finally, _she did_.

She dumped Jonas and got past her fears and then they let themselves fall together. Head over heels, wholly and openly.

It took them one month to fall in love. It took them two and a half to move in together. (It only took him two weeks after getting back from Atlanta to realize he couldn't sleep without her anymore.) And three to get a dog. They weren't exactly working with the most traditional timeline to begin with. So, while proposing after four months of dating may seem impulsive, it actually fit their previously established pattern.

As soon as they got their act together, they seemed to be in sync. Usually, they are on all the same pages at all the same times. But in the far corner of his mind he has doubts about this particular page.

He finishes making his coffee and then goes to work on her tea. It;s a lazy Saturday afternoon, for once, and Lucy has decided to spend it writing.

And _he_ has decided to spend it watching her write. That's not creepy, is it? It probably is. Though, she never seems to mind. It's especially gratifying on days like today where she knows it's just going to be the two of them and Dakota (that dog he mentioned earlier, remember?) because she doesn't even bother getting ready for the day. There's no trace of makeup on her face, her hair is curly and wild, and she keeps her slender legs on full display. Just for him.

Currently, she is sprawled across the couch with her laptop resting on her thighs and the dog laying on her feet. She's chewing her bottom lip and rereading what she wrote yesterday while she grimaces and sighs and frantically backspaces over certain parts. She's a perfectionist, which he kind of knew all along, but didn't come face to face with until after filming ended. She's also much too hard on herself. He knows she rewrote one section five times yesterday and what she ended up with was almost word for word identical to her very first draft of that section.

The kettle whistles. The dog jumps off the couch and runs to sit at his feet.

He sighs and stares at the mutt in amusement. "This kettle goes off every day, bud. You should know by now that it doesn't mean you're getting a treat."

The dog just whines and barks, and Wyatt rolls his eyes at him before tossing him a Milkbone.

Lucy laughs from her spot on the couch. "You realize he's never going to learn that if you keep giving in, don't you?"

"You try saying no to his big puppy eyes," Wyatt mutters as he finishes Lucy's tea.

"His puppy eyes I have no problem saying no to," she tells him as she looks up at him. "It's yours that are my weakness, Soldier."

He smirks at her and nods. "Oh yeah? I have puppy eyes, huh?"

"Don't act like you don't know," she tells him with a grin and a roll of her eyes. "You're well aware of how adorable your stupid face is."

"Adorable and stupid in the same sentence," he says as he picks up her cup of tea and his coffee and makes his way to her. "I tell ya, ma'am, you really know how to make a guy feel loved."

"Well, I am a writer, don't ya know? The talent for an eloquent turn of phrase is in my blood." She juts her chin out with playful pride as she takes her tea from him and he can't help but laugh at her.

"Whatever you say, Baby Doll," he replies.

She stares at him for a moment and then sets her laptop on the coffee table. She holds her tea in one hand and then motions for him to join her on the couch with the other. He doesn't need to be asked twice. He sits down next to her and she quickly snuggles into his side. She swings her legs over his and then rests her chin on his shoulder. The casual affection and the ease of contact between them will never cease to amaze him. Or at least he hopes it never ceases to amaze him. She came stomping into his heart without warning and a part of him will always be afraid she could stomp out just as easily. He lost Jessica, who's to say he couldn't lose her, too? It's best, he knows, to not take anything for granted.

Because if Lucy ever left him—

God, that would be the end of him.

He would go on existing, sure, but he certainly wouldn't be living. Not without her.

And it's in that moment that he feels it. That feeling he's been waiting for to propose. It's peace and contentment and _certainty_. She's cuddled next to him in companionable silence, just casually sipping her tea with her clean face and unruly dark curls, and something in him just _knows_ that this is it. This is the moment. The ring box is pressing against his leg from the pocket of his flannel pajama bottoms and he takes a deep calming breath.

Just go for it, idiot.

He puts his coffee down next to her laptop and then turns and takes the cup of tea from her hands.

"Hey!" she protests. "I'm still drinking that."

He chuckles at her offended face and shakes his head. "I'm aware, and you'll get it back. I just—I have something I need to say."

"Okay," she says with a furrowed brow. "Now I'm worried. Did I forget to turn on the alarm system on last night? I swear I thought I did but I was half asleep and—"

He places a gentle hand over her mouth and smirks at her. "It's my turn to talk, Professor, and, no, it's not about the alarm system. Though, you did forget to turn it on last night. I really hope you turn it on when I'm not home. I mean, you do, don't you? Cause I know this is gated community and everything but— _what am I doing_?"

He can feel her smiling against his palm and her warm chocolate eyes are shining in amusement.

"I sound like _you_ ," he tells her with an accusing glare. "You're turning me into a rambler."

Her shoulders are shaking and he can hear her muffled laughter.

"Laugh it up," he says with a teasing eye roll. "Go ahead."

He removes his hand from her mouth and her laughter rolls out of her as he does so.

"Rambling Wyatt is so cute," she says through her laughter. "I think I just fell in love with you all over again."

He sits and waits and grins at her as her laughter subsides and she clears her throat.

"Sorry," she says as she lightly worries her lip to keep from chuckling. "You had something you wanted to say."

He just sits in silence and observes her for a moment. He wants to drink this in. To drink _her in_. With her cheeks flushed from laughing, and his button up shirt swallowing her frame, and her teeth teasing her lip. He wants to remember all of it.

"I love you. You know that, don't you?" he asks once she starts fidgeting nervously under his gaze.

Her brow furrows slightly in concern. "Of course I do, and I love you."

"No," he says with a shake of his head. "I don't just mean I love you. I mean _I love you_. You are the love of my life. I love you more than I have loved anyone else in my life."

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. " _Anyone_ else?"

He knows exactly who she's asking about when she puts the emphasis on 'anyone.' Though, he does not understand why she seems surprised. " _Anyone_ , Lucy. No one else even comes close to you."

"What you're about to say is either really good or really bad," Lucy tells him observantly."Which is it?"

He chuckles and shrugs. His paranoid nerves are returning as he speaks. "I'm hoping for the first, but I think that's really up to you." He pulls the ring box out of his pocket and places it on top of her thighs that cover his.

Her eyes widen at the sight of the blue box with the white ribbon and she glances back and forth from it to him as she gingerly picks it up. She unties the ribbon and lifts the lid on the blue box to reveal a velvet black ring box.

"Oh my god, Wyatt," she says with a gasp as she brings a hand to her mouth. Her eyes water and stares at him in shock.

When it becomes clear she's in too much shock to actually open the box, he does it for her. The diamond ring glistens in the natural white light that slips through the blinds and contrasts sharply against the black velvet of the box.

"I know," he says as his voice cracks. He clears it nervously and continues. "I know realistically it's only been four months that we've been together but...you're _it_ for me, Luce. There's no one else. There will _never be_ anyone else. I know that with every fiber of my being." He grabs her hand that isn't pressing against her mouth and brings it to his lips. He presses a kiss to her palm and then lays her hand over his heart. "Lucy Preston, will you marry me?"

When she removes her hand from her mouth he breathes a sigh of relief. She's smiling brighter than he's ever seen her smile, brighter than any sun or star ever could, and tears are streaming down her cheeks. The joyful kind, he knows. He knows her well enough to spot the difference. He picks up the black box and carefully lifts the ring out of it.

She gives him her left hand and nods with a waterlogged laugh. "Yes, Wyatt. _Yes_."

"Oh thank God," he says as he releases a nervous breath and slides the ring onto her finger.

She laughs again and then cups his face with her hands. "Did you really think I would say no?"

"It's only been four months, Luce, most people would find that to be too soon," he tells her as he leans into her touch.

"We are not most people. Never have been," she says with a beaming smile.

"Touche," he replies with a chuckle.

She shakes her head at him but her eyes look amazed. "This was perfect. _You_ were perfect."

He presses his forehead to hers and brushes their noses together. She releases his face to throw her arms around his neck and pull him closer. They kiss leisurely for several minutes before he slowly lays her back onto the couch and settles himself on top of her. Her soft hands run through his hair and over his arms. He wonders, not for the first time, how she instinctively knew to do that. From that first day she did it while he was helping her with her harness it was like she just _knew_ he needed it, that he would get the most comfort from a hand through his hair. He didn't even know that about himself so never understood how _she_ did.

But then, he supposes, that's how it should be because she sees him differently than he sees himself. In her eyes he is good, in her eyes he is worthy of care and concern and love. He loves her and he loves her eyes. He loves the man she makes him want to be. Even when he hates himself, _he loves her_. She's his true north, his constant, his guiding light.

And as a thank you for that, he plans to be there for her and help her achieve any dreams she wants. He gets the privilege of supporting and encouraging her for the rest of his life. She has put her trust in him and it was hard won.

 _He won't let her down_.

Fin.


End file.
